


The Time Traveller's Chieftain

by underlay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Attempt at Humor, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Crack, Lance and Percival are just the best pals you could want, Light Angst, M/M, Romance Novel, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Swordfighting, years of reading way too many medieval romance novels gave birth to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underlay/pseuds/underlay
Summary: When Merlin's lecturer Gaius hands him an obscure book on the clans of the Welsh borders, he has no idea how much it will change everything. After the book sends him back in time to a medieval castle, he has to contend with sword fights, surly warriors, and the clan's confusing and irritatingly good looking chieftain, Arthur.A silly romp taken half seriously, with vague levels of historical accuracy, strange magic and a dose of romance...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever long story and my first post to AO3! The fic is mostly completed and will be updated regularly over the next couple of weeks. It's been a long time since I've watched the show, so some of the knights may be a little OOC, but they should still be good fun. Hope you enjoy!

“…and this expansion continued well into the next millennium.”

Merlin stifled a yawn against the elbow of his jumper, looking blearily down at his notebook where he’d managed to scrawl _Danube Valley_ before giving up. He glanced at his watch; it was quarter past four, meaning he still had thirty-five more minutes left in this lecture. 

Usually he enjoyed Pre-Indo-European Civilisation and found the lecturer, Gaius, engaging, but for some reason he just couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. He frowned. He hadn’t had a particularly late night; a group of them had gone to see Freya’s swimming gala at nine, then they’d gone for a drink before returning to their respective homes. Perhaps there really were only so many times you could hear the phrase ‘socio-economic growth’ before even Gaius’s swooping hands and arched eyebrows became soporific. 

“C’mon, Merlin,” he muttered to himself, “Just another half an hour.” He looked sideways to see the girl on his right giving him a strange look, as though she thought he might be going mad. He grinned at her and turned back to Gaius, who had a photo of a particularly dull-looking brown pot on the projector. 

When the lecture ended, Merlin couldn’t help but feel a thrill of relief that he’d managed to keep his eyes open, stuffing his notebook – still without any real notes – into his backpack with renewed vigour. 

He was almost out of the door when he heard Gaius’s voice. “Merlin, would you wait a moment?” He shut his eyes. _Damn_. 

Moving out of the way of the other students leaving the room, Merlin turned back to the lecturer, who was packing up his laptop. 

“Now,” Gaius said, “Are you alright, Merlin?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered quickly. “Sorry. Just a bit tired today.”

Gaius frowned, looking down at his desk. “No, I meant… ah, no matter.” He smiled. “Would you come with me a moment?” He drew his laptop bag up onto his shoulder, rejecting Merlin’s awkward offer of help and heading off. 

Confused, yet feeling more awake than he had all day, Merlin followed.

Gaius didn’t reveal anything more on their way to his office, under a grey and damp sky along by the university lake and into one of the old buildings, up a narrow stone staircase. Merlin had walked up those stairs many times in his first and second years and now, at the beginning of his third, they felt very familiar. 

Inside his office, Gaius settled himself down behind his desk and waved for Merlin to take the chair opposite him. “Come, sit.” He was rummaging about on the paper-laden desk, frowning. “Ah, here it is!” he announced, drawing out a heavy book from the mess. 

“Uh – what is it?” Merlin asked hesitantly, still standing just inside the doorway. 

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Sit _down_ , and I may tell you.” Quickly, Merlin took a seat, putting his backpack down at his feet. “Honestly…” the lecturer murmured.

He set the book aside, the leather cover closing with a sudden snap that made Merlin jump. 

“Now, I noticed you weren’t particularly alert in my lecture on the Danube Valley Civilisation this afternoon.” He leant forward over the desk, hands clasped together on the desktop. “Something on your mind?” 

Gaius’s voice was soft and his eyes were kind, but Merlin couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was about to threaten to call his mother. 

“Oh, no.” He waved a hand, attempting to look blasé, all the while hoping he knew what blasé would look like. “Just tired today, like I said. I’ll get an early night.”

Not breaking eye contact, Gaius began to drum his fingers on the cover of the heavy book. The silence was ridiculously oppressive, Merlin thought, wondering why Gaius had to be quite so dramatic.

Merlin sighed heavily, looking down at the book. “What is it, then?”

“A book. A rather important one.”

Merlin ground his teeth in frustration. “What’s in it? Is it something to do with the course?”

In answer, Gaius turned the book around to face Merlin and pushed it across the desk. Upon closer inspection, Merlin saw that the heavy leather was covered in a plastic sheath with a library sticker on. The title was embossed in a calligraphic font, but faded; in fact, the whole book seemed a little worse for wear, the edges a little battered. 

“ _A Historie of the Northerne_ \- does that say _Island_?”

Gaius leant over to look. “Where? Oh, no, quite the opposite: _Inland_.”

“Ah.” Merlin sighed. “ _A Historie of the Northerne Inland Tribes and Peoples_.”

Gaius nodded sagely. “Mmm. By Eldrich Morgan. A very useful volume, although with a somewhat misleading title; this is a copy, you see, of the original, but is still in itself over a hundred years old and completely unedited. All the tribes are in the south west or in Wales, and some of them are positively coastal. However, you can’t fault Morgan’s attention to detail.” 

“And, this is for…” Gaius seemed to have disappeared into his own mind, and Merlin’s stomach was beginning to protest, remembering the peanut butter bars Gwaine had baked that morning and doubting there would be any left by the time he got home. 

“Oh, yes, well. I just think it would be of interest.” All of a sudden, the lecturer stood up, smiling evenly at Merlin and holding out the book. “Here, take it with you. I don’t need it back for… oh, a while.”

Quickly, Merlin stood up, scooping his bag from the floor. He took the book without further question, although he still had no idea what he was expected to do with it. “Uh, thank you.” 

He hurried to the doorway. “See you on Tuesday, Gaius.”

Gaius was frowning, his fists clenched on the desk. “Yes, I-” he stopped, and Merlin thought that it wasn’t the first time he’d cut himself off that afternoon. “Safe travel, Merlin.”

With a hasty wave, Merlin turned and scurried down the stairs, his stomach getting more impatient with every minute. There was something definitely odd about the way Gaius had been acting, something beyond his usual eccentricities, but Merlin couldn’t bear to dwell on it at that moment. It had started to rain, the skies bleak and cold.

“Great,” Merlin muttered, tugging his jacket closer around his waist. The zip had broken last week and he hadn’t thought to grab his thicker coat that morning, scrambling out of the house in a wild rush. 

He rummaged in his pockets as he hurried towards the bus stop, groaning in disbelief when they turned up empty. “You’ve got to be _shitting_ me!” he cried in disbelief, glancing up to see the girl from his lecture – Beatrice, she was called – looking at him with an expression of great concern. “Oh – I’m not mad,” he assured her frantically, grinning. She didn’t look at all appeased by that and rushed off, glancing over her shoulder at him anxiously.

As he turned away from the bus stop to begin his walk back to his house, the heavens opened. 

Ten minutes later, Merlin was drenched to the skin, clutching the dratted book against his chest, and in a fouler mood than he would have thought possible. Deciding that there was a difference between temperamental autumn weather and sadistic downpours, and cursing Gaius for delaying him, he took shelter under a large tree on the edge of the pavement. It was still raining under the leafy canopy, but at least he could now see.

After a few minutes, he accepted that the rain wasn’t going to let up any time soon, and he wasn’t going to go back out into the flood until he absolutely had to. Frustrated, he pulled out his phone and texted Leon to tell him they might was well go to the pub without him, as it would be ages until he was back and sufficiently warm enough to feel like venturing out again.

Curiosity – and boredom – getting the better of him, Merlin drew out Gaius’s book to figure out why he had been given it. 

The cover fell open easily, revealing a mouldering title page. He flicked to the contents, running his finger down the chapter titles to see if there was anything there that seemed vaguely familiar, but nothing rang a bell. _15: The Great Battles of Whyndeme and Llachinladd_ looked reasonably promising, at least compared to _4: Observations on the Propertyes of Successful Mountaine Farming in the Temperate Clime_. 

Yet when he tried to flick to chapter fifteen, it seemed as though the book wouldn’t let him. No matter how he tried to pry the pages apart, the book would only open about half way through, not letting him see any of the earlier chapters. Every time he tried to flick past the point it would open on, the pages simply stopped responding to his tugging fingers. When he tried finding it from the back, the second half of the book did exactly the same thing, rifling itself open to the middle and denying him access to any other section. 

“What…” he began, shaking the book violently, until he became suddenly afraid that the whole thing would slip from his grasp onto the wet ground, and shook it somewhat more lightly. The pages weren’t stuck down, exactly, and they quite clearly had writing on, but for some reason he just couldn’t see anything except chapter nine.

Frustrated, he looked down at what the book _would_ let him see, wondering what on earth Gaius was up to.

“ _An Account of the Bordere Clans and their Fates_ ,” he read under his breath. Well, it wasn’t quite the battles that chapter fifteen had offered, but it could be worse. Resigned to reading a suspicious history book on a subject he knew nothing about, by an author with inconsistent spelling and an over-fondness for the letter e, whilst dripping with rain, Merlin looked to the first sentence of the chapter.

_A series of clans rose and fell in the bosom of the valleys on the olde Welsh bordere, many greate in size and battle power, but none as great and tragick as that of Drassa, and its brave and noble chieftain…_

Abruptly, Merlin felt a sickening tugging somewhere just above his navel, shut his eyes to stop the spinning greys that the ground and sky had become, and knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

When Merlin opened his eyes, his vision was filled with dark earth, dry on his cheeks, with a rich smell. He rolled onto his back, groaning as he did so, feeling as though he’d been persuaded into yet another ill-advised boxing bout with Leon. 

The sky was blue; startlingly so. It looked like the peak of a heady July, the air barely moving and the only clouds visible nothing but faint, unthreatening wisps. The sky, along with the dusty earth, was testament to the fact that it definitely hadn’t rained any time recently – yet his hair was still in damp curls on his forehead and his trainers were saturated. 

It was then, as the nausea was waning and confusion, tinted with burgeoning panic, began to set in, that Merlin felt the uncomfortable lump of the book at his back. He tugged it out, frowning as he saw that it was still in the same condition it had been in earlier, whilst he felt well and truly battered and had a rather impressive graze through a cut in the knee of his jeans.

Ignoring his apparent relocation in season and place – as the mere thought of it, despite it being completely impossible, made him want to vomit – he opened the book. The library cover wrinkled under his fingers, little bubbles of water trapped under the plastic. The title page was still the same, as was the contents, but when he turned the page, chapter one opened readily at his hand, all its previous reticence gone.

Quickly, Merlin flipped through the whole book, stopping at random points. There was the threateningly boring chapter four, every page laid out for his inspection; chapter fifteen too, with its battle diagrams; in fact, the whole thing seemed to be acting like a normal book all of a sudden.

He shut the cover, inspecting the jacket for any obvious differences, and ran a finger carefully along the spine. Nothing. Then he opened it up again – everything was still there. 

Frowning, Merlin began to wonder if he had imagined the whole weird not-opening thing. But then there was the whole matter of him ending up…

He looked around, unable to deny any longer the fact that he definitely was _somewhere_ , and that somewhere was not a pavement in the rain. He was in the middle of a field, or no, not a proper field – there was no hedgerow, no fence; a park, then. There was a group trees to his right and straight ahead, what looked like the edge of a wood, and he wished Gwen were there to identify them. They were leafy and green, showing no signs of autumn’s gold. To his left the grass carried on over a series of rolling hills into the distance; maybe somewhere along the way it became fields, but it mostly just looked like meadowland from where he was sitting. 

Pulling himself off of the ground, Merlin brushed the dirt off of his clothes with one hand, fingers clenched bone-white on the book. Running a hand over his jeans pocket, he felt a solid lump and nearly kicked himself. His mobile! He’d just call one of the others and somehow they’d sort this whole thing out, and Gaius could have his _bloody_ book back, thank you very much.

He felt a moment of panic at the phone’s black screen, but realised that it had turned off in… whatever had happened. As it came slowly to life, he gave it muttered encouragement. 

It turned on, and his screensaver was the same picture of his mum’s cat Gary. Flicking through his menu, he found all his texts, including the message he had sent to Leon just before he started reading Eldrich Morgan’s _Historie_.

He glanced at the top of the screen. No signal. “Okay, don’t panic,” he told himself, definitely starting to panic. “It always takes a little while to warm up.” Flicking through a dozen other photos of Alli and a video of a drunken Gwaine and Freya singing karaoke, he tried to keep his breathing under control. Still no signal.

Fifteen minutes later, the phone having been turned on and off again three separate times, the battery removed and shaken, and the SIM card inspected for some kind of obvious damage, Merlin had to accept that he wasn’t going to be able to call anyone anytime soon. The signal wasn’t even ‘emergency only’; a nervous dialling of 999 didn’t do anything. 

Now sat on the ground cross-legged, back where he had first awoken, Merlin shut his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into his forehead. He would just sit like that for a while, he decided, ignoring the strange book, his unresponsive mobile and his completely unexplained teleportation. 

The sun was warm on the crown of his head, his jacket and jumper quickly becoming too warm. The soft waft of air over his skin was almost pleasant, and as he sat, he became more aware of the gentle murmurs of life in the trees. It would have been very peaceful if it weren’t for his roiling stomach. The next thing to do was to come up with a plan, a way to figure out roughly where he was and how the hell he would get back. Don’t panic. 

Some time later, as Merlin still sat rigidly on the ground, still without a strategy to get home, eyes squeezed shut, he heard something else. His head snapped up immediately. From the trees ahead there was a rhythmic pounding and the faint mutterings of what might have been human conversation. Part of him was drenched with relief as the noises drew nearer and he became certain that what he was hearing was conversation and – horses? Yet another part of him was suddenly wary. What if he was trespassing on private land? What if someone got angry? He would have to hope that wherever he was, someone would at least point him in the direction of a town so that he could make his way back to Caerwent and hit Gaius over the head.

The sound approached through the wood. He was sure it was horses now, along with men’s voices, although he couldn’t tell how many. 

Suddenly, he realised that he was dead in their path if they were coming from the direction he thought. He scrambled to his feet, scooping up his phone and the book. The moment he did so, two horses broke through the thick line of trees, less than ten metres in front of him.

Time seemed to slow; he’d never seen a horse so close in real life, and they were huge, forelegs cutting through the air. He could see the hairs of their manes, the saliva flying from the curled lips. 

“Woah!” 

The shout cut through the air and brought Merlin back from his trance. He tore his eyes from the horses to look, for the first time, at the men riding them. 

They had pulled up their horses, stopping Merlin from getting run down. The man on the left had a closely shorn head and a scowl on his face. He was the one who had shouted.

Now he was scowling at Merlin, his fingers clenched tightly in his horse’s reins. “What is your business here?” His voice was cold and suspicious, eyeing Merlin as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was.

Merlin wondered quite how to respond to that question, and decided that honesty probably wasn’t the best policy. “I, uh – where exactly is here?”

The two men exchanged a look.

“I just mean, where _exactly_ ,” Merlin rushed to add. “I’ve got a little disorientated.”

The first man’s scowl grew, if that was possible. “You don’t know where you are?” He looked to his companion. “I don’t trust him.”

Shrugging, the second man nudged his horse forward a few steps. “He doesn’t seem like much of a threat, Percival.” This man had a mop of dark hair and a wide scar splitting the left-hand side of his face, cutting through his eye down to the twisted corner of his mouth.

Percival swung down from his saddle, running a hand along the horse’s dark neck. He paced forward, his steps measured, powerful, reminding Merlin of the intricate dance of the boxers at Leon’s gym. 

Merlin took a deep breath, wondering if it was time to run away. 

“He might be a spy,” Percival growled, not breaking eye contact with Merlin. “Look at what he’s wearing.”

The man still on the back of his horse sighed loudly. “Yes, he might be. Here to spy on this… patch of grass. Perhaps he was sent by one of your scorned lovers.”

Merlin looked between the two of them, fairly certain that the second man was joking, but still feeling that something weird was going on. “I’m definitely not a spy,” he clarified. “I just – if you could give me some directions, that would be great.”

Percival still looked fairly inhospitable, but he had relaxed his stance. Merlin took a moment to look at the pair in more detail. They were both wearing wine-red tunics, he supposed you would call them, with dark trousers and boots. There was a thick belt around Percival’s waist holding what looked suspiciously like a scabbard for a knife. 

Okay, he thought desperately, they were obviously part of some re-enactment group. 

The second man tilted his head to one side. “You really do not know where you are?”

Shaking his head, Merlin decided that the most important thing now was to figure out where he was and get away, no matter how mad they thought he was. 

“We could take him with us,” he continued, addressing Percival, who was still stood warily between Merlin and his horse.

“Are you mad? And what would Arthur think?”

The other man shrugged. “I didn’t mean we had to take him in. We’ll just show him his way back to the castle, and he can be off, back to whatever land he comes from.”

The word ‘castle’ was spinning rather nauseatingly around Merlin’s head.

Percival glanced at the sky. “Very well, then.” He turned back to his horse and swung himself easily into the saddle. “But it’s on your head.”

“Come on, then,” the second man said to Merlin, nudging his horse into a walk. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Uh, Merlin,” he replied, turning quickly to walk alongside the horse, staying away from Percival, who clearly would rather leave him up here without a hope. 

The man smiled, and Merlin tried not to stare at the way the scarred side of his mouth twisted. “Merlin, is it? I’m Lance.” He nodded to his right. “And that’s Percival.”

Merlin couldn’t do anything but nod, hoping that Lance’s friendliness wasn’t a front for some murderous plan, and deciding that since he really didn’t have any choice except for walking off into the woods with no idea where he was, he may as well be optimistic. “Where is it we’re going?” he asked, lengthening his strides to keep up with the horses.

“To the castle,” Percival answered, looking mulishly ahead.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Drassa, Merlin. Have you heard of it?”

Merlin frowned. The name did sound familiar, although he had no idea where from. They walked on in silence for a while, although Merlin wasn’t sure exactly how long it was, sensing that getting his phone out to check the time wouldn’t go down all that well.

As they crested a hill, the summer’s light beginning to grow deeper and more gold with the descent of the sun, Merlin caught his first glance of the castle. It was not large, but built in clean stone lines, a tower at one end. The whole building was surrounded with a wooden fence, outside of which a few houses clustered, as if pressing themselves up to the castle walls. A dirt path, clearly visible against the green of the countryside, ran from the gates of the castle towards them, winding over the hills before merging back into the grass. 

It was certainly a castle, not a ruin. Even from this distance, they could see people moving around the houses and through the wooden walls. Merlin took a deep breath. 

•

The walk down to the castle was marked by obvious curiosity as they passed the villagers, who smiled and talked with Lance and Percival, but cast frowning glances Merlin’s way; and Merlin realising where he had heard of Drassa. It was the tragic clan of chapter nine, the clan Merlin had just begun to read about before he was abruptly torn away and tossed in a field, seemingly miles and – though he was still praying this was all an elaborate hoax or a hallucination – centuries away from his home. 

Once they stepped through the gates, Merlin walking on autopilot, the only things allowing him to carry on the state of shock he had inevitably succumbed to and a desire to stay near the one person who had spoken to him kindly, Merlin became aware of how _noisy_ it was. Lance and Percival – who it seemed could be perfectly friendly and even smile when he wasn’t talking to Merlin – had struck up conversations with a couple of other men as they dismounted. A couple of boys came forward and led the horses away. _Servants_ , Merlin’s mind supplied helpfully, whilst he stood frozen. To his left, a blacksmith was striking at metal which gave off showers of gold sparks and loud, ringing clangs. To the right, beyond where the horses had been taken away, there seemed to be a fight going on, with men dressed in light clothing thrusting and parrying with – yes, those were real swords.

Merlin really needed to sit down.

“Are you well?” Lance asked, drawing Merlin’s attention away from the fighting. “Percival, Merlin looks like he’s about to faint.”

Quickly, Merlin shook his head, although he wasn’t feeling great. “No, I’m fine. Just… thirsty, that’s all.” And apparently in a medieval castle.

The fight seemed to have stopped, and Merlin realised it wasn’t a real fight at all as the two men who had been shoving swords in each other’s faces moments before shared a drink from a bucket of water. 

“Arthur’s finished training,” Percival told Lance, who was still watching Merlin as though he were about to collapse. “Shall I get him?” 

Lance frowned. “I thought he could make his own way from here.”

Percival shrugged, waving at the sky. “It’s getting later, and does he even know his way?”

“I am here, you know!” Merlin butted in without thinking, scowling. 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “So you are. Well then, do you know your way from here?”

“Uh…” Merlin paused, wondering what on earth he was meant to do. He couldn’t exactly tell them the truth, partially because he couldn’t bear it himself. There must be a way back to the twenty-first century, and he guessed that the answer lay in _A Historie of the Northerne Inland Tribes and Peoples_ , which he was still clutching to his chest. “Not exactly,” he acquiesced, disliking the knowing look on Percival’s face. “I’m sure if I could just rest here a while, I’ll sort myself out.”

“Go on, get Arthur,” Lance told Percival, who nodded and turned on his heel. 

The two of them watched as he walked over to the two men who had been training and spoke quietly in the ear of the one who was facing away. 

“Don’t worry,” murmured Lance as Percival and Arthur began to come towards them. “You’re obviously a bit lost, but no one’s going to kill you.”

Merlin wouldn’t bet on it, but he didn’t say anything. Everything had gone a little fuzzy and he felt as though he was in a surreal daydream. 

“This is our chieftain,” Percival said, striding towards them next to a blond man who was rubbing his hands on a strip of cloth, his pale tunic drenched with sweat. “Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin had just enough time to wonder how it was that all these medieval men were quite so attractive before they were upon them. 

“We found him up on the hill by the wood,” Lance tells Arthur. “He didn’t seem to know where he was. Still doesn’t.” He smirked. “Percival seems to think he might be a spy.”

Percival scowled. “I just thought that we should be careful; we’ve got no idea where he’s from.”

“Very true.” Arthur speaks for the first time, and Merlin definitely did not find his voice attractive. Oh, hell, he’s clearly going mad, so he might as well admit that the man standing in front of him – the chieftain – wouldn’t look out of place on Merlin’s TV screen. The thought was almost funny. If Merlin were to describe television to them, here, now, he’d probably be burned for heresy. 

Some of Merlin’s twisted amusement must have found its way onto his face, because Arthur frowned and peered at him, looking suspicious rather than concerned. “Are you alright?”

Hastily, Merlin nodded. “Fine, yes.” 

“Right then,” Lance sighed, “Since he’s clearly not a spy, shall we put him up here for a night or two until he can find his way home?” 

Arthur turned away, handing the cloth to a servant who seemed to appear out of thin air. “As you see fit. Don’t bother me with it anymore, would you?” With that he nodded to Lance and Percival, completely ignoring Merlin, and stalked off.

Well, attractiveness didn’t necessitate manners. At least some truths were universal.

Percival tilted his head over to the training yard. “I need to speak with Tristam,” he told Lance. 

“See you at supper, then.”

“Merlin,” Percival said with a nod, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Lance smiled. “Don’t mind him, he’s not that bad really.” He began to walk towards the main building of the castle, gesturing for Merlin to follow him. “He’s just very into fighting and-” he waved a hand in the air, “-protecting Arthur. Thinks everything’s a threat.” They had reached the main doors. Lance paused just outside and continued, “Really, we don’t have any real threats. Not anymore. Anyway, we’ve got plenty enough men to put up a resistance if needs be. Sometimes I think Percival would rather half the country decided to conquer us overnight, just for something to do other than riding patrols.”

Merlin nodded, although he was feeling a bit overwhelmed and really just wanted to sit down and potentially have a small freak out. Medieval politics was a little beyond him at the moment.

“I don’t really know why I’m telling you all of this,” Lance sighed. “But I suppose you aren’t going to do any harm. Anyway, here comes Alys.” He gestured to a middle-aged woman who was walking towards them, wearing a dark dress, with a cloth tying her hair back. “She’ll show you to a room.”

She bobbed in deference to Lance, and then turned with a cool smile to Merlin. “Follow me.”

“I’m certain I’ll see you later.” Lance smiled. “You’ll catch on to how everything works easily enough.” And with that, he was gone.

Alys entered the castle, and Merlin followed quickly, clutching tightly to Gaius’s book. Inside the castle it was cool compared to the early evening outside, and dark; they entered up a few steps onto a main hall, which was airy enough, but Alys turned off abruptly onto a narrow corridor. She remained silent as they went, going right into another passage, Merlin frantically trying to keep track of where they were going so he would have some hope of getting out again.

They came to a pair of staircases; one leading down to what Merlin assumed was the kitchen, judging from the smell, and the second rising up into the darkness.

“If you go up that way,” Alys told him, gesturing to the stairs. “You’ll come out near another set of stairs. Go up those ones, to your right, and there are a couple of rooms with beds in. Take your pick.” There was no open hostility in her face or her voice, but she clearly wasn’t relishing showing him around.

He smiled. “Thank you. And where do I eat?”

Alys shrugged. “You can go down to the hall with everyone else. I haven’t really got enough hands to be bringing you your own plate…”

“No, of course not,” Merlin rushed to say. He supposed he could have been locked up as a prisoner if Percival’s suspicions had been taken more seriously. The least he could do was navigate some dinner. “Thank you.”

She nodded, and disappeared left, down to the kitchens.

“Right,” Merlin muttered, eyeing the stairs. They were thin and curved, and the walls were cold and almost damp under his hand as he climbed. There were no windows, only one slit halfway up that he couldn’t quite remember the name before, though he’d never seen one outside of a ruin.

He found his way easily enough until he reached the rooms that Alys had referred to. The landing he was on stretched on and then round to the left, and the two doors nearest to him were both shut. Cautiously, he pushed at the first one, thinking that he could claim ignorance if there was someone inside who didn’t want to be interrupted. 

There was no one there. The room seemed to be unoccupied; there were two low beds, tucked into alcoves in the stone walls, and a table under the window, but no signs of anyone’s belongings. A small fireplace was against the far wall, which was a small blessing; despite the summer weather, all the rooms in the castle that he had seen so far seemed to have a chill that bore no attention to the season and came from the dark stones. Merlin thought about going to investigate the other room, but he was suddenly overcome with a wave of utter exhaustion, and sat down quickly on one of the beds.

Resting his head back against the wall, he looked down at the book. It still had its plastic cover, which he supposed might draw a few questions if someone were to look at it closely, but he didn’t know where to dispose of it, so he left it for the moment. The answers must be between its pages somewhere; time travel over a millennium into the past was seemingly impossible, frightening and illogical, but at that moment it was the only real explanation, and the link seemed to be Gaius’s book. 

After all, Merlin thought, chuckling to himself, he had never time travelled before. 

However, he didn’t want to look at the book yet. He walked over to the window and leaned out, turning his head to the right to watch the setting of the sun over the hills, ripe red-gold on the sweet green of the grass, the sky painted in waves of light, dancing gently over the tree-scattered horizon. There was something settling about it, the view without the castle, without the swordfights and stable boys. 

•

Merlin slept through dinner, waking at some point in the darkness to a stiff neck and a cold back. The sky was dark, but someone had obviously come in whilst he’d been sleeping and lit a fire, the dying embers of which glowed at him from the opposite wall. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, expecting the ‘no signal’ message but still feeling his heart sink. The clock told him it was seven am, but he guessed that it was still telling him the time back home. Seven o’ clock; he supposed that the others would be getting worried. They would have wondered when he didn’t arrive back yesterday evening, no doubt trying to call him, and not getting through. Maybe one of them had gone to the university to look. At what point did you call the police? Gwen would probably know. 

He smiled at the thought, suddenly even more tired that he had been the previous evening, and yet unwilling to get under the scratchy blanket he was sat on and attempt to sleep.

Instead, he got up, picking up the book and sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. There was just enough light to read the faded title under the library plastic. Now that he had spent half a day in this strange land, he had to accept that, improbable as it seemed, he was, for all intents and purposes, in a medieval chiefdom somewhere near the Welsh border. For some reason, Gaius had given him a magic book and the only way back home surely lay within its pages.

The book was completely dry now, as, he realised, was he, although he felt more than a little grimy. As they had when he had flicked through it back in the field, the pages opened readily. 

“Chapter nine,” he murmured, rifling through the _Historie_. And there it was: _An Account of the Bordere Clans and their Fates_. He had been right – Drassa was there in the second line, along with its ‘brave and noble chieftain’. Merlin wondered if that was Arthur or some other sod, his father or grandfather perhaps, or some as yet unborn descendent. 

For a while Merlin just sat there, bathed in the gentle light of the embers, looking at the first page of chapter nine but not reading it. The thought popped into his head that maybe he had to go through the stages of grief to accept that he was living in the past; what were they – avoidance, acceptance, anger? No, they couldn’t all begin with the letter a. 

He ran a finger slowly across the page. There had to be some clue, some tick that set the whole thing in motion, something that could send him back to their good old student house with rising damp and single glazing at the front so that you could hear all the traffic from the road. The castle was silent, eerily so. Either the whole place was sleeping soundlessly or its architecture provided natural soundproofing. Or maybe the entire building was riot with noise: drunkards in the courtyard and carolling through the corridors; maybe they were fighting in the hall downstairs, lighting fires out in the stables. He doubted he would notice if they did.

“A series of clans rose and fell in the bosom of the valleys on the old Welsh bordere,” he read, willing the words into action, willing them to be more than words. “Many greate in size and battle power, but none as tragick as that of Drassa…” he trailed off, hissing the castle’s name. “Drassa,” he repeated, gazing forwards into the flames. “Drassa, Drassa, Drassa.” Saying the name was what had got him where he was; perhaps it worked the same way in reverse. “Caerwent,” he said urgently, “42 Barton Road, Caerwent.”

The embers were silent, as was the book, so he rested his head in the palms of his hands and just sat there, not crying nor shouting, and not thinking a single thing.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time dawn came proper, Merlin had fallen into an uncomfortable slumber, slumped over by the fire. His whole body was protesting from a night of interrupted sleep in a bare castle room where everything seemed to have been designed to cause the most possible aches. Yet his mind felt more settled, more resolved. At some unconscious hour, his subconscious had apparently decided to accept his current situation, ludicrous as it was. 

Either that or he was just completely distracted by his growling stomach. 

He had no idea what time it was – during the early hours, his mobile had given up and died, so he couldn’t even see the time back in the twenty-first century. 

That thought made him feel a little ill, so he decided to stop thinking about the existential results of his time travel, and instead focussing on getting breakfast and getting home, in that order.

On his walk down towards the main hall as per Alys’s directions the previous evening, Merlin passed a young woman trotting up the stairs at some speed. He nodded to her awkwardly and started to say hello, but she brushed past him with nothing but a raised eyebrow. 

He had left the book and his jacket on the bed in the room where he’d slept. As he descended the second set of stairs he wondered if that had been a bad idea, hoping that they would still be there when he returned. The book might have held no answers during the night, but he couldn’t give up on it that easily. 

Once he passed the kitchen, Merlin seemed to be in everyone’s way, with servants moving in both directions along the narrow corridor, large platters in their hands. The population of the castle was evidently reasonably large, he supposed, despite the rather quiet yard. Or else they all had very large appetites. 

A twinge of nervousness held him back at the doorway to the hall, but since he quickly realised he was blocking everyone’s way, he moved with an apologetic grimace.

A long wooden table lay along the end wall of the hall under two wide arched windows, letting in cool white light. Another, longer, table stood at a right angle to the first, facing Merlin. The top table was lined with wooden chairs, whilst the second had stools. There was a scattering of people along the second table, a few small groups talking quietly as they ate. At the top table a small group of men sat, including one of the men who had escorted Merlin to the castle yesterday. He paused, uncertain whether to approach them or not, looking around the hall uncertainly. At that point, Merlin’s stomach decided that it had had enough and pushed him forward.

“Who’s this?” called one of the men at the top table, gesturing towards him with a hunk of bread.

Awkwardly Merlin sat down, a few seats away from them. “I- uh, I’m Merlin. I’m…” 

“He’s a traveller,” cut in a familiar voice. Merlin peered past the giant of a man to his left, who was quietly eating opposite the man who had called out, to see Percival twirling his knife on the table. “An uninvited guest of the chieftain.”

A couple of the men laughed, and Merlin looked away, embarrassed. The plates in front of him, although somewhat depleted, were still laden with a much larger variety of food than he had expected. There were a few slices of what looked like dried pork, some thin black things that might once have been fish, several small steaming puddings and a tray of bread. What looked like the remnants of several apples littered the plate of the man who had asked who he was.

Gratefully Merlin reached out for some bread, placing a hunk on the wooden dish in front of him and shoving some in his mouth. It was dark and dense, far from the bread he was familiar with, but the taste was mild and inoffensive, so he reached for more. 

“Where’s he come from then?” the first man asked at length. 

Merlin looked at him, but since his mouth was full and the question wasn’t directed at him, he didn’t bother to answer. 

Percival shrugged. “No one knows.” He stood up, sheathing his knife. “Now, enough with him, Dain. Are you finished?”

Dain nodded slowly but didn’t make any move to get up. Neither of them had raised their voices, but they were commanding the attention of the remaining half a dozen sat at the table. 

“Don’t you think we should… try him out?” Dain asked, folding his arms across his chest. “See what he’s made of?”

Merlin glanced at Percival, who sighed, his expression stony. “We haven’t got time for games.”

The man next to Dain, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up. “It’s not as though we’re going to be besieged today, is it? I’m sure we could pass some time training him up.”

“Very well, then,” said Percival, who seemed to have authority over the others. “If Tristam’s well with it.”

“Tristam’s never well with anything,” muttered Dain’s companion, but, seeing Percival’s expression, he didn’t say anything more.

Merlin cleared his throat, wondering if there were any drinks around. “So, uh, what’s happening, exactly?”

Dain looked around, eyes wide. “He does speak!” 

The man on Merlin’s left turned to him, wiping off the last of his food with a final scrap of bread. “They’re going to test out your fighting skills.”

“You won’t join us, Cedric?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, I shall be there after, to patch you all up.”

“This one, you mean,” Dain smirked. “Merlin.”

Cedric shrugged, still smiling. Merlin was warming to him. “Perhaps.”

• 

Merlin told himself he was going along with this in order to not appear rude or ungrateful, but really he was marginally more nervous about what would happen if he said he wouldn’t fight rather than what would happen if he did. 

It couldn’t be too bad. They weren’t going to try to _kill_ him, or… seriously maim him, or anything. Hopefully. 

They had gone out into the training yard, the morning sunshine bright and welcome after the endless stone of the inside of the castle. Tristam, a dark-haired man with deep lines worn into his forehead, was in charge of the yard and the small armoury tucked away somewhere behind the stables.

“Stay here,” Percival told him curtly, as he and the others disappeared to get swords. Real swords. 

A small crowd of about a dozen people had gathered, mostly younger than Merlin, servants from the kitchens and the stables. The blacksmith was watching with curiosity from the other side of the courtyard. 

“Oh man,” Merlin muttered under his breath. No one at home was going to believe a word of this once he got back.

After what could only have been a few minutes, although it felt like at least an hour, Percival and Dain returned, along with the man who had been sat next to Dain, who was introduced as Bertrand. Percival and Dain were both tall and broad, although Percival was slightly larger all round. Both had closely cropped hair, Dain’s a deep red, although his skin was fairly tanned. Bertrand was shorter and leaner, with long fair hair and a goatee, grinning as they carried over half a dozen swords. Merlin swallowed uncomfortably: there were no shields.

Evidently Dain saw Merlin’s nervousness. “You do not need to fight, you know,” he told him as they approached. “There is no real dishonour in it,” he continued, but he was smiling in an unfriendly way.

Percival set his swords down on the ground. “Perhaps then we can get to some real training.”

Merlin bristled. “No, I can fight.” It was an outright lie, but his voice came out sounding clear and sure, causing Percival to take another look at him.

“Well then,” Tristam said from where he was leant against the outer wall. “Shall we get to it?”

“Take a blade.” Dain gestured at the swords on the ground. “You can try your luck against me first, and then Percival, if you dare.”

Merlin nodded. “Alright.” He picked up a sword.

“What about me?” Bertrand asked, scowling at Dain. “Am I not to fight?”

Dain shrugged dismissively, not looking at him. “Perhaps later.”

Merlin removed the scabbard and placed it aside on the ground, next to the eager spectators, not really sure on the etiquette of swordsmanship. The sword was a heavy weight in his hand, although not as unbearable as he had feared it might be. Percival and Bertrand had moved out of the way, leaving just him and Dain, who was grinning as he swung his sword in wide arcs through the air.

Merlin glanced right across to Tristam, who at first appeared rather bored by the whole spectacle. Yet there was something in his stance, some coiled, controlled power, which was echoed in Percival, who stood to Merlin’s left. There was no doubt that the other men, Dain and Bertrand, Lance from the previous day, and many of the others gathered around, were strong, but there was something more in the bodies of Percival and Tristam. A maturity, perhaps, Merlin thought. Something beyond competitiveness and testosterone. 

Quickly, he looked back to Dain. Now was not the time to ponder. 

“Shall we begin?” Dain asked, shifting from one foot to the other, but before Merlin or anyone else could answer, a voice behind them interrupted.

“What’s happening here?” it called, and Merlin turned to see Lance entering through the gateway, leading his horse. He walked towards them, raising his eyebrows at the scene. “Some kind of pantomime?”

Percival stepped forward. “It’s Dain’s plan to test our new friend.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Oh is it? Well, I can tell you straight off that he’s definitely not a spy, Percival. He looks absolutely petrified.”

“Hey!” Merlin exclaimed indignantly. “I’m not _petrified_.”

“This really isn’t necessary,” Lance continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’ll only do someone an injury. Dain,” he added, looking at the younger man, “There are plenty of others here you can fight who will give you much more of a challenge.”

Dain shrugged. “I thought we should check out Merlin’s fighting ability. He could be an asset to Drassa.” Although, judging from his tone of voice, Dain clearly didn’t think he would be.

Merlin was getting rather tired of everyone talking back and forth over him about the morality of making him swordfight. “I’ve agreed to do it,” he told Lance. “I don’t mind. Now can we just get on with it?”

“Very well,” Lance sighed, waving one of the servant boys from the audience forward to take his horse. “But don’t come running to me if Arthur doesn’t like it.” With that he moved away from the training yard, although Merlin saw that he didn’t actually go into the castle, instead wandering over to the blacksmith. 

Dain frowned. “Will Arthur disapprove?”

“Dain,” Percival growled. “Either fight or don’t, but decide. This is getting tiresome. Merlin has said he’s happy to train with us. Now, will you or won’t you?” Percival glanced at Merlin and gave him a small nod, obviously impressed by him standing up for himself. Although he told himself it was totally ridiculous, Merlin couldn’t help feeling a little buoyed up by that. 

Tristam stepped forward. “You know the rules,” he told Dain. The yard was quiet. “Begin.”

 _I haven’t got a chance_ , Merlin thought desperately, watching Dain as he began an elaborate dance, slicing his blade through the air. Merlin’s sword lay heavy in his hand, the tip resting in the dirt at his feet. There was no way he could truly fight Dain. He’d never even held a real sword before, for goodness’s sake. 

Slowly, Dain began to move forward, and the watching crowd grew louder, no doubt laughing at Merlin, frozen and defenceless. 

He shouldn’t have agreed to it – it was pride, and nothing else. He didn’t want some medieval strangers to think that he was a coward, and now he was paying for it. 

As Dain approached, moving almost casually from side to side, taking his time, Merlin dropped the sword and let it fall to the ground. Desperately, he tried to think of something he could do. He was sure that Dain wouldn’t hurt him, not properly, but he’d rather not be utterly defeated, standing there like a sacrifice. 

“Come on, Merlin.” He heard a growl from his left and turned to see Percival frowning at him. 

Then Dain was upon him. Acting purely on instinct, Merlin leapt out of the way, ducking under Dain’s left arm. Adrenaline was racing through him. 

Dain turned to face him, looking shocked.

“Okay,” Merlin muttered to himself, backing away from his opponent. His occasional, painful bouts of boxing with Leon were going to be no help here, not whilst Dain held a great big blade that he clearly knew how to use. But something could help him, he thought: Merlin was significantly smaller than Dain, and quick.

And he had four years’ taekwondo under his belt, even if he hadn’t practised it since he was sixteen. 

The crowd was noisy now, and Dain was scowling. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin thought he saw Lance moving closer across the courtyard. 

Dain swung at him again, although he was obviously finding it awkward. Perhaps he wasn’t used to fighting someone who didn’t have a sword of their own, Merlin thought as he darted to his right. 

For a few minutes they carried on darting around the clearing, Dain swinging at Merlin’s arms and legs. So far he hadn’t made a hit, but Merlin knew that he wouldn’t be able to finish the fight by merely slipping out of Dain’s reach. Someone had to win.

Encouraged by his own evasiveness, Merlin felt convinced that he could at least strike Dain, as long as the sword was out of the way. He was going to have to play dirty.

“Hey, Dain!” he called from behind the taller man. Dain turned to face him. “Time out, yeah?” Merlin rested his palms on his knees and leant forward, watching Dain carefully.

Dain arched his eyebrow. “You are too tired?”

“Oh, no,” Merlin said, but he grinned ruefully. “You’re just pretty quick, you know? Give me a minute, then we can have a proper go of it.”

“Will you actually pick up your sword to fight, then? Rather than just leaping around like a scared lamb.”

The onlookers chuckled. Merlin laughed. “Well, I’m just not used to such a worthy opponent.”

Dain preened, but over his shoulder, Merlin saw Lance and Percival watching him carefully, clearly not convinced. 

Dain had edged forward and lowered his sword, although he still kept a firm grasp on the hilt. This was Merlin’s best chance; there was no way Dain would completely let go of his blade. 

Moving quickly, before he overthought it, Merlin stepped forward with his left foot and swung his right in a high kick aimed right at Dain’s face. The move was a little unsteady; Merlin was unpractised and his jeans were constricting, but there was enough power behind the swing to have it land with an audible crunch. 

Immediately the yard went silent. Merlin straightened up to see Dain looking confused, his left hand rising to his nose. Before the other man had time to lunge forward, Merlin dived forward and hooked his right leg around Dain’s knees, bringing him quickly to the ground. 

Dain let out a rather large grunt as his back hit the hard earth, and Merlin apologised quietly. 

The first thing Merlin heard was a loud laugh. Lance, now next to Percival, was grinning at him. “Nice one, Merlin.”

The rest of the yard was clapping and laughing. Merlin felt his face heat. 

“Here,” he reached a hand down to Dain. “Sorry about that.”

Dain took his hand and clambered up, a hand rubbing the small of his back. “Do not worry about it.” He shrugged. “You fought your way, and you beat me fair and square.”

Bertrand came forward out of the crowd. “Are you hurt, Dain?”

He shook his head. “’Tis nothing.” He nodded at Merlin, his face a thundercloud, and walked away across the yard, Bertrand following behind him. The pair bowed their heads in conversation over by the far wall.

Merlin’s study of them was interrupted by Percival clasping his shoulder. “Come on then,” Percival said, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve much to teach us.”

• 

Merlin spent the next few hours in the training yard. The sun grew hot overhead, and he stripped off his jumper, realising that he really needed a proper wash soon. Luckily, no one else appeared to be that concerned about personal hygiene.

Percival was keen to learn from Merlin who, despite himself, was rather enjoying the positive attention he was getting. Everyone seemed convinced that he was some great fighter, when really all he’d had was the element of surprise and a willingness to drop his sword. Thankfully, no one else appeared to want to try to fight him properly, content instead to watch him execute a few slow motion high kicks.

The gathered crowd laughed when Percival was unable to escape from the headlock Merlin had him in, and thankfully Percival did too, clasping Merlin’s arm after he’d been released. “Not bad for one so small,” he smiled, a hint of a laugh in his voice. 

The bright day and pleasant companionship, coupled with the most physical exercise Merlin had had in a while, if he was honest with himself, had left him grinning and sweaty. The endorphins racing round his system had made him forget for a while where – and _when_ – he was, but it all came rushing back as the smiles fell from a couple of the men’s faces, their eyes fixed over his shoulder.

Merlin span around to see the movie star chieftain, Arthur, approaching with long strides across the courtyard, his features twisted into an impressive scowl. 

“Why do I have to deal with this?” Merlin muttered under his breath, for some reason not at all afraid of the imminent chewing out it seemed those around him were expecting. “I’m not even meant to be here, I should be in a seminar about Bronze Age Egypt.” 

For a moment it seemed he’d spoken a little too loudly, as Percival gave him a strange look out of the corner of his eye, but before he could say anything Arthur was upon them. 

“Percival, explain to me why everyone is gathered around like washerwomen goggling at the stranger instead of training like proper men?” Arthur growled, coming to a stop in front of Percival and Merlin, hands on his hips. 

“Prig,” Merlin grumbled, narrowing his eyes, even as his traitorous brain catalogued the sweat pooling in the hollow of Arthur’s collarbone with unquestionable interest. 

If he heard, Arthur ignored him, keeping his eyes on Percival, who coughed uncomfortably but maintained eye contact with his chieftain. “We thought there might be something to learn from Merlin’s unusual, ah, fighting techniques.”

Arthur raised one eyebrow. “And you didn’t stop to think he might be learning something from us? It was only yesterday that you were half-convinced he was a spy, Percival.”

“Well, perhaps I was being… a little extreme. He doesn’t seem like a threat.”

For the first time, Arthur’s eyes darted to Merlin, quickly looking him up and down dismissively. “He may not be a threat, but he’s a nuisance-” at that, Merlin couldn’t prevent a squawk of objection, although once again he was ignored, “-and best left out of training. See that it doesn’t happen again, Percival. And the rest of you – back to work!” The men gathered behind Merlin and Percival hastily sprung into action, spreading out across the training yard and starting up sword fighting with a din of metal on metal and grunts of exertion.

Arthur turned to go, his scarlet tunic clearly inappropriate dress for training. However, before he walked away he paused, looking at where Merlin still stood, now alone, Percival having moved to join the rest of the fighters. “Merlin,” he said slowly, as if thinking about his name for the first time, eyes narrowing in a way that seemed much more curious and less angry than his previous speech. He nodded, as if making a decision and beckoned with one hand. “Follow me.”

With that, he walked away briskly across the yard, leaving Merlin with little choice but to obey, following Arthur’s gold and red figure past the curious onlookers and up to the castle doors.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time he had trotted briskly after Arthur down three corridors, up a flight of stairs and through two sets of heavy, studded doors, Merlin had worked himself into a rage. He should be at university at that moment, well fed on off-brand Weetabix and some of Gwaine’s peanut butter bars instead of mysterious heavy bread, discussing Nubian trading links while messaging the others under the table, planning the fancy dress party they were meant to be attending tonight. Freya was going to go as a mermaid and had persuaded Merlin to accompany her as Sebastian from _The Little Mermaid_ , although he point-blank refused to sing the song. Gwaine and Gwen had got matching suits to be Vincent and Jules from _Pulp Fiction_ , which Merlin had loudly decried as unfair, as they would look infinitely cooler than he would in Gwen’s red leggings and cardboard pincers.

He paused. No, the fancy dress party had been yesterday. He’d missed it, dining in a great hall and trying to get home via a magical book. Although presumably his friends wouldn’t have gone. By last night, they would have been worrying about him – and someone was bound to have called his mum by now. How dare Gaius and his weird book send him back in time and leave everyone fretting? How dare this Arthur scowl at _him_ when he hadn’t even wanted to come here? He hadn’t even wanted to fight Dain, or train with the rest afterwards, although he had to admit he had been enjoying himself. 

Lost in his own thoughts and scowling furiously, it took Merlin a second to realise when Arthur came to an abrupt halt. 

“In here.” Arthur walked up two stone steps on their left to an arched door and pushed it open. 

Merlin followed Arthur into the nicest room he’d ever seen. Despite the fact that he was clearly in the past, properly in the past – and hadn’t fully dealt with that, he knew – that he had somehow time travelled with a magic book his lecturer had, for some mysterious reason, given him, and he didn’t know anyone, and he had just been fighting with actual warriors holding actual swords, and was now about to have some unknown and probably terrifying punishment exacted upon him by an honest-to-God chieftain… despite all that, Merlin let out a deep sigh, looking around as the door shut behind him with a feeling of calm. The wall to his left was hung with a large tapestry of dark browns, reds and cream; the wooden floor was covered with a woven rug. A dark table and three chairs with arms carved like vines stood under the single window on the opposite wall, which looked out over the river that wound down below the back of the castle, which Merlin had not seen yet. The afternoon sun shone in, lighting the shelves that ran along two walls, reaching up to the high stone ceiling, filled with hundreds of books. 

While Merlin stood by the door, Arthur had walked over to the window and now gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit down, Merlin.”

Merlin nodded and did as he was told. Half of his attention was still on the volumes behind the table, although he had remembered why he was there, and started to feel a little irritated and a bit nervous as Arthur remained stood before him, his expression inscrutable. 

“I don’t…” Arthur trailed off, frowning slightly. Merlin wished he’d sit down; being looked down on wasn’t helping his discomfort. “What are…”

“Look, if you’re going to shout at me for, for corrupting your warriors or something, or kick me out of the castle, just do it.” 

Arthur smiled, although he didn’t directly answer Merlin. “You don’t fight like anyone around here, Merlin.”

Merlin grew tense. Showing off earlier had probably been the wrong thing to do, even though Percival and the others had all seemed to appreciate his different approach in the end. Merlin was suddenly reminded that his fate could be worse than being chewed out or thrown out, if Arthur had any cause to suspect anything near to the truth. “I… well, I grew up quite far from here, see…”

“You’re not exactly _dressed_ like anyone around here, either. Or anyone I’ve ever seen, in fact.” He raised his eyebrows. “And I’ve been as far as Eburacum.” 

This meant nothing to Merlin, but he pulled a face he hoped seemed appropriately impressed. Honestly, he was surprised it had taken this long for anyone to challenge him on his clothes. His jumper was plain green, thin wool from the charity shop and didn’t look too out of place. After he’d taken it off when training, his University of Caerwent Sci-Fi and Horror Society T-shirt had been on display, and he could only thank whatever strange deity covered medieval time travel that no one had got close enough to read it properly. If many of them could read, that is. That his jeans and trainers hadn’t received any comment was more odd. Perhaps Merlin was strange enough to the inhabitants of Drassa that each individual peculiarity was dismissed as part of the whole foreign package. 

Merlin became aware that he hadn’t responded to Arthur for almost a minute. “Uhh…” 

“Eloquent.” Arthur pushed himself away from the window, walking over to the other end of the room and perusing the books, his back to Merlin who had to twist awkwardly in his heavy chair to see him. “You know what, Merlin, I’d love to hear your full story,” he looked at Merlin over his shoulder, grinning for the first time. The effect was quite alarming, “Or whatever story you were about to spin. Wherever you were before Percy and Lance found you up on the hill seems like it must be quite a place, if _you_ live there.” At this, Merlin wasn’t quite sure whether he was supposed to be insulted or complimented. Perhaps a little of both. “But, alas, I haven’t got the time.” He walked back over to Merlin and cocked one hip against the table, bringing his whole body alarmingly close to Merlin. 

Finding his voice, Merlin said, “Well, that’s a shame, you know. I mean, I’d love to tell you all about, er, where I’m from, you know, and the fighting and the-” he glanced down at his feet, “-shoes. But I wouldn’t want to monopolise the chieftain, you must be busy.” Merlin got up and Arthur made no move to stop him, although he also didn’t move, meaning that they were now stood a little too close together. Arthur’s muscled forearms were crossed bare over his chest, a thick ring on his index finger catching the light from the window. Merlin swallowed, and then wished he hadn’t, because he was half sure that Arthur’s blue eyes had tracked the movement and thinking about that was just going to lead him down the wrong path. 

Arthur smiled, one side of his mouth tilting up, as if he knew exactly what Merlin was thinking. Merlin decided that mind reading on top of time travel was just too much, and pushed the idea out of his head. “Another time, then,” Arthur replied at length. “I will hear the truth, Merlin. Until then… if you’re going to be staying in the castle, you should pay your way.”

“I don’t have anything with me, I mean, to pay or- I could work in the training yard, like earlier.” Merlin was buoyed up by the fact that Arthur hadn’t shouted at him for kicking Dain or teaching the others.

Arthur let out a short laugh. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not convinced that would go well so down with Dain or any of his little group.” He shifted his hips, bringing them worryingly close to Merlin’s own, and Merlin took a quick step backwards, willing his body not to respond. “You’ll see, Merlin, that most will welcome you here, but you should watch your step around Dain. His damaged pride is not so easily mended.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” Arthur replied in a measured tone. “Not a threat, just a warning. Probably nothing will come of it. Anyway, I won’t have you in my training yard.” Merlin’s face fell. The couple of hours he had spent with Percival and the other men had been the most fun he had had in his day here. Perhaps even the most fun he’d had in a while longer, he admitted to himself. Arthur relented a little. “You may go to the yard when you’re not working and no serious training is taking place, to spar with whomever you please. As long as it’s well with Tristam.” That didn’t worry Merlin; Tristam, who looked after the yard alongside the armoury, had seemed quite and mild mannered, although he obviously commanded a deal of respect from the other men for him to maintain his position. 

“What will you have me do then?” Merlin asked. The beautiful room and warm sun were pleasant, and he couldn’t deny that Arthur’s company was proving more intriguing than he had anticipated. However, he couldn’t help but feel that Arthur had the upper hand, leaving Merlin waiting to be told his fate as he stood there in all his finely-dressed, tanned glory. “Probably the latrines,” Merlin muttered, only realising he had said it aloud when Arthur let out a quick laugh.

“No, you’ll work in here, with my books. I have acquired quite a collection, as you see, but since I became chieftain last year I’ve not had much time to organise them. You can catalogue them and provide me with a detailed inventory.” He paused. “You _can_ read, yes?”

Feeling as though he might have been trapping himself slightly, Merlin replied, “Yes.”

“Wonderful!” Arthur bounced up from his slouch, striding across the room and opening the door wide for Merlin, who took the hint and left. “Tomorrow morning, Merlin. I look forward to it.” And before Merlin could say a word in response, the door was shut behind him and he stood alone in the empty corridor.

•

The next morning, Merlin arrived at Arthur’s study with a knot in his gut. The previous evening had passed without incident. He had made his way back to the chamber he had been given by Alys after getting lost a few times, and had been relieved to find his jacket and book where he had left them. He had tucked the book and his dead mobile under the straw mattress of the bed he wasn’t sleeping in. A bell was rung for dinner, and he joined the end of one of the long tables in the hall, eating a bowl of stew that was surprisingly good and trying to take in as much of the room as he could. He had been surprised by how many of the men he had recognised from his little performance yesterday, and several of them nodded at him as they walked by, including Lance and Percival who joined the top table where Arthur sat in a large chair. None of them had gestured for him to join them, however, and he felt that he had made the appropriate choice by sitting amongst the workers and manual servants who filled the lower tables of the hall. If he was going to be around for any length of time, he didn’t want people thinking he was above his station. Not if Dain was the threat Arthur had implied he could be. 

Breakfast that morning had been similar, although Arthur had been absent from the hall. Merlin couldn’t deny he was a little disappointed, despite his nervousness about his new task. He was sure he would barely see Arthur, what with him having a whole castle and clan to run. In fact, he would probably be spending most of his time alone in the room with hundreds of ancient books no one from his present time would ever have access to. He should have been excited, but something about the idea of spending more time in that quiet, warm chamber with Arthur kept him on edge.

Shaking his head, Merlin chastised himself under his breath for his hesitation and knocked smartly on the door. 

“Come in!” Arthur’s voice called from inside, and Merlin drew himself up and entered. 

The room was just as he remembered it from the day before, although the light from the window was cooler and brighter than the previous afternoon’s warmth. 

Arthur sat behind the table, wearing a much simpler grey tunic than yesterday’s resplendent scarlet. 

“Merlin.” He beckoned him over. Several sheets of blank parchment and two long quills rested on the table, along with several stoppered pots of what Merlin presumed must be ink. “To begin with, draw up a full list of every volume in here, with any appropriate details: author, inscription… I think there are a couple bound in snakeskin, maybe note that down.”

Merlin, still stood awkwardly by the side of the desk, sat down hastily once he realised Arthur was getting straight to business. “ _Snakeskin_?” He asked incredulously before he could help himself, and then bit his tongue, wondering if perhaps snakeskin was a common book-binding material in the- in whichever century he was currently in. Briefly he supposed he should probably be more concerned about the fact that he had no idea when he was, and could think of no simple way to find out. However, the task of keeping himself alive, sane and relatively inconspicuous in a medieval castle, all while having no idea what his friends and family thought was happening back in his own time, had taken up enough of his energy over the past couple of days, so he decided not to worry about the details for the moment. 

Arthur nodded once, slowly. “Yes, snakeskin. So just compile the list for now – that shouldn’t be too beyond you should it? It will probably take you a few days.”

“Are you staying in here?” Again, the words slipped out before Merlin could think them through properly.

“I’m not sure I have to tell a stranger with no second name or place of origin quite what my movements are.” His tone was level but Merlin saw the edges of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“No, I didn’t mean… Oh, well I just wondered if anyone would be around. It seems quiet up here. Do you not have any, uh, scholars? Or bookkeepers – or, well, who does this job instead of me usually?”

Arthur frowned. “Who does this job instead of you? I haven’t passed over the duty of one of my clansmen to you, Merlin. You’re fortunate we haven’t enough people to spare _bookkeeping_ , otherwise there would be no task for you and thus no reason for me to extend my hospitality.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leant back in his chair, legs spread under the table. “I am surprised you expect us to be so well equipped. It’s only been a year since…” Trailing off, he cocked his head to one side and eyed Merlin suspiciously. “You really have no idea where you are, do you?”

Merlin swallowed. “I know this is Drassa, and you’re Arthur Pendragon.”

“And that name means nothing to you?” Arthur was smiling now, clearly enjoying the game of cat and mouse.

Suddenly, Merlin grew irritated. It was one thing to be constantly on edge, worrying that somebody would realise he was a time traveller from over a thousand years in the future and burn him or something, but it was another to be deliberately needled by someone who was clearly enjoying it. He had spent barely an hour with the man, but Merlin had already decided that Arthur Pendragon, who inspired loyalty and fear from his men, had a beautiful face and a stupid, mocking smile, and lived in a bloody _castle_ – well, he was a bit of a prat. 

“No, I don’t know who you are!” Merlin stood up and took a step to the window, looking outside at the light sky and the land falling below, strips cultivated for crops or holding sheep and pigs that were nothing but silent dots from this distance. He looked over at Arthur. “I’ve never been here before and I don’t know anyone here, I’ve never heard of you, or your castle. If you want me to leave just tell me, and I’ll go. Or I’ll write a list of your books for you.” He scowled. “Just decide.”

Something about his answer seemed to have pleased Arthur, even though Merlin couldn’t imagine what it was. He was never really that impertinent towards anyone, preferring to take the path of least resistance, but something about Arthur just rubbed him up the wrong way.

Arthur stood up, the smile still lingering on his face but the playful look gone. “Very well. List the books. My advisor Gavin has a chamber down the corridor on the right, if you finish or have need of him. Good day, Merlin.” He walked over to the door and, with that, was gone.

Merlin let out a sigh of relief. It had felt good to rant a little, even if he couldn’t express all the reason for his frustration without being deemed mad or a witch. Something in him had been a little disappointed to see Arthur leave, but he decided that was ridiculous. Frustrating, vague conversations, even if they did get his blood pumping, were not conducive to his general plan of staying alive until he could figure out how to leave.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, moving away from the window towards the farthest shelves, by the door. “Books.”

• 

By the time the sun was high in the sky and Merlin’s stomach was beginning to protest, he had only made his way through two dozen volumes. The parchment on the table now had a list of titles in his spidery handwriting, and he had used a blank piece as a marker as he moved along the shelf, to keep his place. Each book held the intrigue of that any artefact held for him, although they had not been as helpful as he had hoped at providing him information.

For starters, they were almost all in Latin.

Two had been in something that looked like it might one day become German, although Merlin’s three years of secondary school German lessons had not helped him at all. One of the Latin volumes had contained endless diagrams of the human body, some of which had been quite frightening and highly inaccurate, which had proved a source of curious fascination but no dates or maps.

Despite the linguistic barriers, Merlin moved slowly through each book, half his mind desperate to access anything that might help him. This whole mess had started with a book – a book tucked under the mattress upstairs, which he needed to spend some more time examining – so it felt reasonable that an answer might be found in another. The rest of his concentration, however, was diverted by the elaborate inked initiums at the beginning of each passage. One book appeared to be a Bible, each psalm decorated in red and silver, while another contained dozens of pages covered in detailed drawings of dragons.

•

A few hours later, the sun flooded the room, illuminating the spot on the floor where Merlin sat cross-legged, bent over a heavy volume in his lap. Although the window of the room looked out the back of the castle from one corner, further along than the great hall and a set of interconnected interior courtyards Merlin had stumbled across that morning as he attempted to find his way after breakfast, noises from the front of the castle sometimes drifted in on the afternoon breeze. All morning, the distant metallic noise of sword fighting could be heard, along with, at one point, what sounded like about twenty escaped chickens with several women shouting after them.

Now, however, a different sound drew Merlin’s head from the book he was frowning at. It was the first book in Old English he had found, and he was reading slowly through it, attempting to remember as much as he could from his first-year Old English module, and remembering why he hadn’t continued it. The sounds ringing distantly from the front of the castle were a welcome relief, and he smiled when he realised he could hear the shouts and laughter of the warriors he had trained with yesterday. He remembered Arthur permitting him to spar in the training yard, providing no serious training was taking place. Quickly he stood up, replacing the book on the shelf and promising to return to it, marking it with the spare quill. The list of titles and authors on the table now numbered thirty-eight, which he decided was quite enough, and left the room with a grin. 

As he walked down the front steps of the castle towards the training yard, Merlin felt nervous. Perhaps the men’s good humour yesterday had only been a result of Merlin’s novelty or the fact that he had bested Dain. Maybe today they would have no interest in letting him join them. He had only known the men for a day, sharing little more than a couple of lines of conversation with anyone other than Percival and Lance. Yet it seemed important that they liked him. After all, he knew no one here, and though he hoped to find a way to return to his own time soon, he really had no idea where to start and could end up stuck at Drassa for some time. Better to spend that time with friends than with incomprehensible books and their equally incomprehensible owner.

A call interrupted Merlin’s thoughts. Tristam stood off to one side by the door to the stables, watching the training yard with one eye and beckoning to Merlin.

“Are you well today?” he asked as Merlin approached.

“Yes, thank you,” Merlin replied a little uncertainly, joining him against the stable. He hadn’t spent much time with Tristam yesterday but he seemed friendly enough.

Tristam nodded. “What does Arthur have you doing?”

Merlin noted the familiarity with which most of the men referred to Arthur, even though they snapped to attention when he was near. “Cataloguing his books.”

Tristam raised his eyebrows. “Thrilling. The men have finished training now – or at least, Arthur’s left, so now normally those who want to just spar for fun.” He smiled quickly at Merlin. “You’re welcome to join. I would myself, but there’s work to be done in the armoury.”

For some reason, Merlin hadn’t thought about Arthur training with his men, although it made perfect sense. He supposed that explained why his dress had been much simpler that morning. He was a little disappointed that he hadn’t been able to see Arthur in action. 

Before he could reply, Lance noticed him. “Hey, Merlin!” Lance was grinning, waving his sword where he stood in the middle of the training yard, the thick scar that ran from his eyebrow to his mouth catching the afternoon sun. “Come to teach us to kick again?”

A few of the other men turned at Lance’s shout and raised their hands in greeting.

“Great, thanks,” Merlin grinned to Tristam and turned to join the fighting.

•

That evening, when Merlin returned to his chamber before dinner, sweaty and still laughing from one of Lance’s jokes, he found two sets of clothes folded on his bed, topped with a pair of scuffed brown boots. After donning his new tunic and a red scarf, Merlin grinned, thinking that it rather suited him. Of course, he had no mirror, but he looked down at himself and decided he passed muster as a medieval librarian. No wonder Gwen swore by her leggings, he mused, even his medieval pair were surprisingly comfortable. 

Merlin gathered up his twenty-first century clothes and went to tuck them under the opposite mattress. As he did so, his eyes paused on the book. For a few hours, he realised, he had almost forgotten that he didn’t belong in Drassa. Despite his strange fighting technique and his modern clothes, he had felt oddly at home. But this castle, with its fighters and ancient books, its mead and swords and blue-eyed chieftain, was not and could not be his home. He belonged in a Victorian terrace in Caerwent, ringing his mum on Sundays and watching Come Dine With Me with Gwaine and Freya over macaroni cheese. The book remained an enigma. Reading it aloud on his first night in Drassa had done nothing, and nor had saying the name of the place he wished to return to, but the secret to getting back home must lie within its pages. 

Before he could pick it up and try something, _anything_ , to activate its time travel magic, he heard the distant ring of the dinner bell. For a moment, he dithered, unsure whether to go and eat in the great hall, now dressed the part, or stay in his room and study _A Historie of the Northerne Inland Tribes and Peoples_. His stomach rumbled loudly, announcing its displeasure at going without lunch for the second day in a row. Sighing, Merlin replaced the mattress and left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and kudos so far! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Over the next two weeks, Merlin found himself surprisingly busy. He continued cataloguing Arthur’s books, reading as much of each as he could – which was not normally more than a couple of words – and studying the illustrations. Nothing he had read gave him any real clue as to precisely when he was living. Every afternoon he found himself down in the training yard, often sparring or receiving sword fighting lessons from Lance, although just as frequently stood to the side talking to Tristam or listening to Percival’s daily assessment of nearby threats and sharing a grin with the other men at his paranoia. Arthur had been present in the hall at dinner every night except for one, talking quietly with those on the top table. Lance had once gestured for Merlin to join them, but he had declined, preferring to stay sat on the edge of a group that consisted of some of the other warriors, the blacksmith and Lance’s manservant. 

“Why doesn’t Arthur have a manservant?” Merlin had asked one night, mouth full of liver pie. “Or does he, and he just doesn’t eat here?” 

Lance’s manservant shrugged. “Never has had one that I know of.”

“Not since he came back, before his father- well, before the whole thing,” another of the men added. Rather unhelpfully, Merlin thought, who was left nonplussed but with no easy way to admit that he had no idea what ‘the whole thing’ was. 

Merlin had seen little of Arthur aside from the far-off sight of him at dinner. If he caught Merlin’s eye, he nodded in acknowledgement but immediately turned away. One morning, Arthur had been leaving his study as Merlin arrived, and had offered a brief enquiry into his health, but without the warmth or curiosity of Merlin’s first meeting with him. 

However, a distant reception from Arthur, Merlin told himself, should be the least of his problems. No matter how good looking he was or how, despite Merlin’s extremely limited knowledge of early medieval chiefdoms, Arthur seemed quite unusual. Several times, in his room before sleeping, or before dinner, Merlin had taken out the book and read more. Twice, however, he had fallen asleep within minutes, head nodding over the pages and had woken up several hours later cold and with a sore neck. Once the dinner bell had dragged him away before he had gotten very far, and another afternoon Percival had come looking for him mere minutes after Merlin had retreated from the courtyard, insisting that he needed Merlin’s advice for a manoeuvre that, when they reached the training yard, he seemed to have no problem with after all. Frustrated with his lack of progress, Merlin resolved to leave the castle one afternoon and have an uninterrupted session with the book. 

The next day, he left Arthur’s study just past midday and set off, waving at Tristam and Percival as he passed but not pausing to answer their inquiries as to where he was going. The bored looking guards at the gate watched him walk past curiously but didn’t say anything. Once out of the castle keep, he wandered down the path he had walked up with Lance and Percival a fortnight earlier, past twisting rows of wooden houses, each surrounded by grubby children or strings of washing, baskets of unwashed root vegetables or, in one instance, several extremely loud and curious chickens, one of whom decided to follow him a few hundred metres down the path before retreating. 

Before long, the houses trickled off and the earth either side of him became greener. He crossed over a small stone bridge and began the ascent up the hill opposite the castle. Quickly the sounds of living dropped away, replaced with the quiet shushing of the breeze in the trees and the call of a bird. Merlin hadn’t realised quite how loud life was inside the castle walls, and found himself relishing the peace. Out of breath, he reached the peak of the hill and turned, looking down at the castle below. From his vantage point he could see the farmland spilling out either side of the keep’s mound, saw the blue ribbon of the river curling behind the castle to where he knew it looped alongside the farms below Arthur’s study window. 

Merlin took several deep breaths of warm air, reaching up to loosen the scarf he now wore every day. He glanced down at the book clutched to his side, but didn’t stop to read it yet. Instead, he turned away from the view and walked further from the castle, following the rough track as it wound its way over the hill. 

The day was warm, a few clouds swirling in the blue sky above him. Two swifts circled at a great height, darting and gliding in loops. A few copses of trees bordered the track Merlin walked along, long grass littered with dandelions brushing against their trunks. Merlin found his mind pleasantly blank, enjoying the quiet. The book clutched at his side reminded him why he had left the castle, but out on the hill it felt less urgent. Surely he could enjoy the sun for half an hour before figuring out how to work the book’s time travel – a feat that felt easier now he was completely on his own and uninterrupted. It was ridiculous, although impossible to deny, that he was in a medieval castle, absurd that he spent his days reading ancient books and sword fighting. Returning home was his only option, so he would return.

A short while later he came to a stop, walking a few paces from the light track and settling down in the long grass. The ground in front of him sloped gently away, giving him a view of the valley a mile or two north of the castle, where cultivated land met the edge of a thick dark forest, stretching away around a bend and out of sight.

Merlin set the book open on his lap, pulling an apple he had begged from Alys in the kitchens out of the pocket of his tunic and taking a large bite, still unused to going from breakfast till dinner with no food. 

The now-familiar words lay before him.

_A series of clans rose and fell in the bosom of the valleys on the olde Welsh bordere, many greate in size and battle power, but none as great and tragick as that of Drassa, and its brave and noble chieftain._

Merlin glanced around, but no untimely interruptions arrived. He took another bite of his apple and continued.

_Drassa was one of the oldest clans of the borderes, forming, according to legend, part of the Council of Five after the departure of the Romans from Englishe shores, with the clans of Elridch, Llanduy, Marra Dur and Tidna, these last two destroying each othere beyond salvation in the Battle of Succession shortley after the rule of Ednir the Furious, although several students of the borderes claim the battle arose from a fight over a beautiful witch, nonsense that shoulde be omitted from any serious study of these mysterious and fascinating clans._

Merlin paused, scanning back over what he had read with a frown between his eyes. Yes, the whole of that had been one sentence. If the author – he flicked to the front to check – Edrich Morgan continued in that vein it might take him a while to get through the chapter. 

__The time of our concerne with Drassa occurred after the Battle of Succession and the fall of the Council of Five. A period of isolation and relative peace descended upon the borderes. There is little evidence of these years, and a lack of communication, including fighting, between the clans must be assumed by historians, although correspondence may of course be lost with time. Drassa was a small clan, housed in a valley with a keep which now exists only as several low walls of ruins._ _

__

A shiver ran down Merlin’s spine at the thought of Drassa reduced to a heap of crumbled rocks, several hundreds of years before his own time. 

__

_The clan of Llanduy, whose location has never been exactly identified, but lay some short distance from Drassa over the hills, fell into desperate straits and launched an atacke againste Drassa, a vicious and unprovoked violence rooted in no more honourable intention than gain of gold and food. Drassa was, at that time, ruled by a chieftain who had become leader after the untimely and mysterious deathe of his cousin, as recounted in the poems of the travelling bard and cataloguer Wirram of Torpeth. This chieftain governed with a sterne hand, banishing many of his clansfolk, who begged charity at the doors of nearby clans, including Llanduy, whose resources could scarce feede its own peoples and stood in no stead to support the castoffs of anothere clan. Indeede this fierceness was not new; several years earlier he had banished his own son after the deathe of the boy’s mother, when he was nothing more than a childe, casting him out of the clan with no provisions._

__

_After severale years, many of Drassa had become frustrated with the chieftain, including warriors who had stood loyale to the clan since before the formation of the council, and whose fathers’ fathers’ fathers had fought at Archaddan for the borderes freedom and secured the Peace of Archaddan. His banishments and new laws againste traditional musics and healing practices were ill met and led to the beginnings of an insurgence, headed by one of the clan’s fairest and noblest of warriors, who had served as envoy to Llanduy and Eldrich under the previous chieftain. Some of the warriors, however, remained loyal to the chieftain and several even welcomed his iron rule._

_Before the chieftain could be overthrown or a civil battle for rule began, Llanduy approached from the north. Drassa had merely two days’ warning before the remaining warriors and able men of Llanduy descended upon them. Wirram of Torpeth, whose narrative I have nevere had reason to question, recounts that the chieftain spent the first day of Llanduy’s advance dismissing the threate and refusing to take the advice of his advisors. As Llanduy neared the following dawn, the farm workers went into hiding in the woods for feare of the violence that may ensue. Those who yet supported the chieftain took the outside threate as an opportunity to sow the seeds of division in the castle and tolde the chieftain of the insurgent group. His phenomenal rage blinded him to the immediate threate and he made no move to secure the castle or those within it, preferring the whole of Drassa to be destroyed than it survive at the coste of his rule, or his life._

_The men of Llanduy raided and torched many of the farms on their approach. Several workers, arriving to defend their homes, lost their lives at the hands of the clan they had once called friends. As Llanduy prepared to take the castle, the chieftain sat raging inside, unable to see past his owne glory to defend his people. Mere moments before the siege of the castle, which would have been destructive and fatal beyonde survival, a small band of men, some no more than boys, led by their noble leader, fought a surprise atacke againste the marauders, killing the leader before being able to attain an audience with three of the most senior warriors, including the dead chieftain’s daughter. They sought a peace, offering a hand of friendship and support to Llanduy, who, having lost their chieftain, became aware that warmongering woulde not sustain their clan for long. Thus the two clans entered into an agreement, and all was set to be well between the two, a day that could have been tragick beyond imagining limited to the deaths of several farmers and the chieftain of Llanduy._

_Yet when the chieftain of Drassa became aware of what his warriors had done without his order, rage overcame him and he rode out of the keep to where the peace was agreed outside the castle’s walls with his bande of supporters. They launched a violent atacke againste Llanduy and Drassa insurgents alike, killing two Llanduy fighters and one of their own, and maiming severale otheres. Seeing their chieftain bent with destruction, the Drassa men had little choice but to kill him in the heat of battle, his rage gone beyonde that which could be contained or moderated by his advisors or kin, a fire that would have destroyed the whole clan without the help of any other clan. They spared all of his supporters, banishing three, including the dead chieftain’s right hand man, although he left behind his son, a boy of no more than fifteen summers, with the promise of return._

_After the violence was ended and the dead buried, the Llanduy fighters dined in the great hall of Drassa as a sign of the new peace between the two clans. The peace continued, and with the support of the productive Drassa farms, Llanduy returned to wealth and stability. Drassa, however, was left without an heir. Many proposed the leader of the insurgents, however, he was a modeste man who asked to take a cottage outside of the keep’s walls, where he died some half a dozen years later. What followed at Drassa was an unprecedented rule by council for fourteen years, until the unexpected return of the dead chieftain’s son, now a man grown of six and twenty years. Knowing of his father’s demise, the young heir passed by in a winter’s storm asking for shelter from the castle he had once called home, having spent several years in the far north. He was received with welcome arms by his kinsfolk and passed the winter there, rising to his position as chieftain with the dissolution of the council that spring._

_The fate of Drassa is largely unknown after the return of the rightful son, a juste man known to be both beautiful and wise throughout the borderes, who resurrected many olde trade agreements with clans both in the borderes and beyond, in Englande and the Welshe wildes. His rule marked a return to the peace Drassa had enjoyed before the time of his father, and greater prosperity than had been achieved by the council in the years since the battle against Llanduy. A bande of loyale warriors served at his side, along with his greatest companion, a man of learning and reason who ruled along with him for the whole of his reign, and whose name, like all those others contained in Drassa’s tale, has been loste to us. No more is heard of Drassa until some four hundrede years later, by whiche time it was an empty castle reclaimed by passing armies and the vines and roots of nature herself._

With a jolt, Merlin realised he had reached the end of the chapter. He left the book open on his lap and looked at the valley below him, unable to marry the fields and cottages below him as the homes of those killed by the warriors of Llanduy – or perhaps their ancestors, or else their descendants. The forest he could see disappearing to the north of him was that in which families had fled, fearing the approaching fighters and the anger and inactivity of their chieftain. Merlin felt unsettled, uncomfortable in his own skin, the clothes he had enjoyed wearing over the previous weeks suddenly becoming a grotesque costume. It seemed impossible to live in Drassa, to know its land and its corridors, to pass an afternoon with its warriors or dine at its table, knowing its history and its future as he did, knowing that this would all fall to ruin, becoming nothing but a memory in the margins of history books he himself would read in a future so distant and strange it seemed like nothing but impossible fiction, sat on that sunny hill with the breeze toying with his hair. 

When he had begun reading the account, Merlin had wondered if the arrogant and violent chieftain could be Arthur, although he found it hard to reconcile the description with the man he knew. Arthur was undeniably confusing and perhaps a little short tempered, but he showed a curiosity and humour that Merlin couldn’t imagine the chieftain in the Historie possessing. Besides, from what little of Arthur’s history he had heard it seemed that Arthur had become chieftain after his father, not his cousin. 

In fact, Merlin couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur could in fact be the returning son of the story, that the civil instability and oppressive rule he had just read was not part of Drassa’s future or its distant past, but recent history. Hell, if that was true, only fifteen years had passed since the attack by Llanduy, meaning many present then would still be alive – would be men and women Merlin saw and spoke to every day. 

Before he could dwell on it any further, Merlin heard the rapid thuds of a horse approaching behind him, followed by the rider drawing their mount to a halt. He turned his head to see Lance sliding from his horse’s back and approaching with a small smile on his face. 

“Good afternoon, Merlin,” he greeted, dropping down on the grass beside Merlin, his long leather riding coat fanning underneath him as he sat, resting one elbow on his bent knee and looking out over the valley. 

“Out riding?” 

“Yes,” Lance nodded. “You’re not training today?” 

Merlin shook his head, closing the book and setting it aside out of Lance’s view. “No, I- I thought I’d get some air today, away from the castle.” He didn’t mention Lance’s own absence from the training yard. 

Lance nodded slowly. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean." 

They sat in peaceful silence for several minutes, Merlin gnawing at the remainder of his apple while Lance picked the long grass idly. 

Although he was enjoying the quiet companionship with one of the men he could now tentatively class as a friend, Merlin knew that now was the best time as any to get answers to the questions he had after reading the book. 

“Lance, I’ve come across, I mean, I’ve heard some things about the clan, about before Arthur was chieftain, and I wondered if you could tell me some more.” He looked over; Lance’s eyes were shut, but a small frown had appeared on his face at Merlin’s words. “Only if you want to,” Merlin continued quickly. “I just didn’t want to ask Arthur. I didn’t think he’d take it that well.” 

Lance snorted, opening his eyes. “No, maybe not. Not… Arthur is a good leader, he listens to those around him, you know, he’s not as arrogant as he appears. But if you go asking questions after being here for less than a month… Perhaps not.” He sat forward, folding his arms over his knees and keeping his eyes on the valley below him. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, Merlin, or from where, but it’s most likely true. Arthur’s only been chieftain for a little over a year, as I’m sure you know. Before him we had some troubles, we…” He trailed off and turned his head to face Merlin. “I’m sure you’ve wondered where I got this,” he continued, gesturing at the scar that split his left cheek and pulled up the corner of his mouth. “When I was young, a boy really, we had a quite different chieftain, nothing like Arthur. It might not seem like a paradise now, but Drassa was hard then, really hard. There was… violence. Many of us were there.” He looked at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. “Percival arrived a year later, but his uncle and aunt died at the hands of attackers from another clan. Arthur has a difficult legacy.” 

Merlin swallowed. It seemed impossible, now, that the chapter he had just read detailed anything other than the story of Arthur and his father. It felt beyond belief that he had held in his hands an account of the history of the man sitting beside him, of those living below, yet also inevitable. However he had arrived at Drassa, and for what inconceivable purpose, it had been no coincidence. Before he arrived in Drassa, the book had only revealed one chapter to him; by some skewed logic it made sense that the characters detailed in Morgan’s _Historie_ were the breathing people he was living amongst. 

“The old chieftain was Arthur’s father,” Merlin said, although it was not a question. 

"Yes." 

“Arthur doesn’t… no one seems to mention it much.” 

“No.” Lance lay back, folding his arms behind his head and Merlin joined him. The conversation seemed easier looking at the green fields or the bright afternoon sky than at each other. “It’s not something people want to remember. The council that followed Arthur’s father was just, and people are doing fairly well, but no one wishes to return to those times, not even in their minds. Growing up in a small clan, in a castle like this, the idea of violence inflicted upon you by your own kin…” He trailed off and Merlin wondered if the scar on Lance’s face had been the work of Llanduy or had been inflicted by a man he had lived alongside his whole life, although he feared he already knew the answer. 

“There’s nothing like that now, though, is there?” 

Lance sighed. “You know the answer to that, Merlin. Arthur’s not like his father. People are happier, have more to eat, more freedom. Nothing fosters darkness like darkness, and Arthur’s rule is a return to the light. But there’s always some people at the edges, wanting more power or more glory, willing to put their pride before their loyalty to their clan.” 

“Dain.” 

“Yes, Dain. And others like him, who have come before and will come after.” 

Merlin looked sideways at Lance, but Lance’s gaze was fixed firmly on the sky above, his characteristic grin absent from his face. Despite desperately needing to know the answer to his questions, Merlin felt a twist in his gut, wondering if his probing had brought too much darkness back into the mind of a man whose face had been carved by his own clan when he was a boy. 

“Hopefully nothing will come of it,” Lance continued after a long pause. “But Arthur is strong and the clan is loyal to him. If we need to fight, to root out the last of the rot, we will, and we will win.” 

Merlin remembered the end of the chapter, and felt at peace knowing that, as far as Eldrich Morgan knew, Drassa did not suffer from internal violence again, although he could barely turn to Lance and assure him that the future was set and peaceful. 

Lance sat up beside him. “I didn’t expect to have this conversation with you today, Merlin.” He smiled sadly. “I came up here to clear my head – and now it’s muddier than when I began.” 

“I feel awful, sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up the past.” 

“No, I think… I find it hard to think down in the castle sometimes.” 

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty noisy.” 

Lance smiled quickly, a wide, full smile this time. “That’s true. Not least if Percy becomes convinced there’s a threat on the horizon and calls us all to double training.” 

Although he laughed, Merlin couldn’t help but have more respect for Percival’s obsession with battle readiness after learning more of Drassa’s recent history. 

“Arthur is a good chieftain, Merlin. You’ve not been here long, but I’m sure even you would agree.” He looked at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. “He definitely finds you interesting, which means he might act a little strangely towards you to begin with, but I expect you will become firm friends. The clan’s doing well, but I- I find it hard to forget our history. I see it on my own face, in the reactions of those around me. I make everyone remember, more so than those who died.” 

Merlin found it impossible to know what to say. “I don’t – I mean, even though I know now, where your scar’s from, what happened – I don’t think of you like that.” 

“No,” Lance smiled, “Some don’t. Percival sees past it. We’ve been friends since he arrived, when this-” he waved a hand over his face, “-was new and red, and he’s just never seen it. He was the outsider, not me. Arthur sees past it too. But every day there’s someone – I walk past them and see this shadow shift over their expression before they can hide it. I’m not ashamed that I fought or that I was wounded, but I wish I could forget for a little while." 

“But you’re always so happy,” Merlin replied before he could stop himself. 

Lance laughed. “Yes, I’m not miserable all the time. I just want to see a little more, find my own place that’s not tied to what I did before I was a man.” 

Merlin nodded. “I don’t think that’s such an unreasonable wish.” 

“No, maybe not.” Lance smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “For now, though,” he continued, jumping up quickly to his feet so he towered above Merlin. “Back to the castle. It must be nearly time for the evening meal, and I’m half-starved.” He loped back to his horse who was happily chewing at the long grass. “Farewell, Merlin. I’ll see you at supper!” he called, and Merlin raised a hand in reply, and then Lance was gone, trotting down the track in the direction of the castle. 

Startled by Lance’s abrupt departure, Merlin stayed sat still for several minutes, trying to make sense of the wild thoughts careering round his head. He had learnt so much in the past couple of hours, yet still Drassa seemed a mystery. Lance had spoken in defence of Arthur, although Merlin had had no cause to doubt him and had provided no criticism. Despite barely knowing the man, Merlin could imagine that Arthur was a good ruler, if, he suspected, a little unconventional. The revelation of Lance’s past and his apparent desire to escape Drassa seemed so at odds with the laughing man he had come to know it left Merlin’s head spinning. 

Deciding he would reach no conclusions sitting on the hillside in turmoil, Merlin rose to his feet, kicking away his apple core and picking up the book. Perhaps after dinner and a night’s sleep everything would seem clearer, maybe it would feel less strange that Arthur’s father had been the cause of Lance’s scarred face, that the quiet people who lived gathered around the keep’s walls had seen such fear and violence. It seemed undeniable that Merlin would have to speak to Arthur too. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be some reason he was there, some reason he carried with him the history and destiny of Drassa bound in old brown leather and covered in a torn plastic cover. Merlin had seen enough time travel films to know that meddling in the past was never a good idea, but he hadn’t chosen to come, and seemed to have no choice to leave. 

He set off walking back to the castle. Another line from the account rose to the forefront of his mind. _A bande of loyale warriors served at his side, along with his greatest companion, a man of learning and reason who ruled along with him for the whole of his reign…_ Perhaps that companion was Lance, who had to be convinced to stay and find his place at Drassa, a home and purpose in the new era, no longer tied to the past. Yes, Merlin thought, as the castle came into view in the late afternoon sunshine, its inhabitants nothing but small dots moving across the courtyard, that might well be it. Well, it wasn’t for him to turn down some supernatural time-travelling mission. He would find Lance peace at Drassa at Arthur’s right hand, as soon as he’d had some of that thick gamey stew he’d smelt cooking in the kitchens earlier and a good night’s sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

After that afternoon on the hilltop, Merlin joined the top table at Lance’s request. 

“You’re our guest,” Percival had agreed, and Arthur gave little response other than a small scowl, so Merlin found no reason to decline. He now spent his evenings talking amongst Lance and Percival, Arthur’s advisor Gavin, and the others who frequented the top table. Mostly, Merlin listened, learning more about the workings of the castle, although often the conversation ended up concerning people he had never heard of. 

Arthur did not speak much. From his vantage point several seats further down, Merlin often saw Gavin or Percival leaning in and speaking in Arthur’s ear, with Arthur nodding in response or answering in clipped sentences too quiet to travel along the table. 

It was impossible that Merlin’s perception of Arthur wouldn’t have been changed by learning about his history. He would watch him talking quietly, his golden head bowed over his plate, and try to see the banished child, the violent father, the returning heir. Yet at the same time, Merlin felt the same way about Arthur he had before. Merlin had spent more time talking with Lance and Percival, and even with the men he used to eat with, than he had with Arthur, but there was something about the man that drew his attention. He remembered how dismissive Arthur had been of him out on the training yard on the day he had beaten Dain, and how his sly interest and humour had emerged in the privacy of his study. Arthur frustrated him. Although he was usually absent from the hall at breakfast and seemed to only spend the early morning in the training yard, disappearing to places unknown within or beyond the castle, there seemed to be nothing that surprised him. A quarrel could begin in the afternoon and by evening Arthur would have heard every side and resolved it, despite barely being present. No piece of gossip Lance produced with a flair for storytelling was met by anything other than a measured nod and, sometimes, a short smile. 

Stabbing his oat cake with a knife viciously at dinner three nights after his conversation with Lance, Merlin admitted to himself that perhaps he watched the chieftain too closely. He rarely saw Arthur while cataloguing his books, the study usually empty when he arrived after the morning meal. By the time Merlin reached the training yard every afternoon, Arthur was long gone. The only reason Merlin knew he was there was Percival’s brief comments about their morning’s training, or one memorable time when he had met Arthur walking through the castle’s corridors, his tunic sweat-soaked and clinging to his chest, his arms bare and flushed pink from exertion. That was the cause of Merlin’s frustration, that perhaps his close study of Arthur’s movements was not rooted in understanding his behaviour, or in his new mission of helping Lance move away from Drassa’s past, but simply in Merlin’s undeniable attraction to Arthur. An attraction he claimed no responsibility for. In fact, he thought, scowling so ferociously at his plate that Percival gave him a rather odd look, he challenged anyone not to be attracted to Arthur. It was ridiculous; no one was supposed to look that much like they had strolled straight out of a magazine, all blue eyes and white teeth and raised eyebrows. He probably knew it too, Merlin fumed, no one that good looking got to their late twenties unaware of the power they held over unsuspecting normal people with perfectly good, ordinary faces and hair that sometimes flicked in completely the opposite direction than they would like. 

Merlin realised he had missed half of the conversation around him in his silent tirade. Lance was leant forward over the conversation, lowering his voice so no one beyond their half of the table could hear him. He was speaking urgently, gesturing with his bread roll. “…I just say it’s helping anyone, Tristam’s not half as fun as he used to be.” 

“Is fun all you think about?” One of the other warriors at the table interjected. “Besides, Tristam’s never been a wild one.”

Lance took an agitated bite of his bread and swallowed quickly. “No, but he barely spars anymore, and never comes up to the castle for a drink. Look,” he gestured at the hall, “he’s not even here now.”

Percival frowned. “But he knows she’s not here; she’s been with her aunt for over three months now.” 

Merlin had to lean in closer as Lance’s voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes darting quickly to his right to check that Arthur was busy talking to Gavin and not listening to their conversation. “It’s Arthur, I’m sure of it. He doesn’t want to see him.”

The other warrior shook his head. “Tristam’s as loyal as any of us.” Merlin nodded in agreement. From all he had seen, Tristam was dedicated to his job and nothing but friendly to the other warriors. He was also obviously level headed, and Merlin couldn’t imagine him holding a grudge against Arthur, although he had no idea what the heart of the conversation was about.

“I don’t doubt his loyalty, Padrag,” continued Lance. “But he’s heartbroken, and I think any sight of Arthur makes him think of it all the more.” 

“Is that why Arthur’s rarely at the training yard?” Merlin asked quickly. “To avoid Tristam?”

Percival shook his head. “No, he’s never sparred more than he does now. He has other things to be getting on with.”

“You just never see him at training,” Padrag added, Merlin thought a little unnecessarily, “because you don’t see us at serious work, only sparring for fun. Your kicks and dancing around wouldn’t stand a chance in the mornings.”

Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Padrag might as well have been puffing out his chest and pissing on the table legs. “Well, we all have our strengths. You wave your sword around all morning, it’s very impressive, you know, jabbing the same bit of air every day. You wouldn’t want to be away inside, studying the chieftain’s prized books.” He doubted that the idea of working with books would inspire any great jealousy in Padrag, but the mention of how Arthur had entrusted Merlin with the task seemed to have deflated him a little, and he sat back in his chair, scowling.

Percival was struggling to hide his grin. “I think we can all learn something from Merlin’s fighting style. It’s always good to change our training. It keeps us from just going through the motions.” Merlin smiled in return, glad that Percival’s original mistrust of him had become something much friendlier.

“You surely don’t agree with Lance, though?” Padrag asked. “I think you’ve been listening to too many tales of love, Lance. Tristam seems well enough to me.”

“Actually, I do.” Percival kept his voice low. “I… understand Arthur’s position, but I cannot help but think that this separation it may be doing more harm than good.”

Before the conversation could continue, Arthur turned to Percival and asked him about the day’s training. The others returned to their food, Merlin’s mind whirling as he wondered what it was that Arthur had done that both Lance and Percival disagreed with.

•

The next afternoon, Merlin made his way down to the training yard. He raised a hand at Percival, but didn’t move to join them immediately, walking over instead to a low pile of crates where Tristam sat, polishing his sword and idly watching the training. Percival seemed unsurprised to see Merlin approach Tristam. 

“Afternoon, Tristam,” called Merlin as he approached, and Tristam raised his head from the sword and smiled. As he sat beside him, Merlin was reminded of what he had thought when he first saw Tristam, that there was a measured power to him, a stillness that made you realise his strength. 

Tristam set aside the cloth he was polishing the blade with, running his hand through his sweat-damp curls. “Merlin,” he smiled. 

Trying to appear nonchalant, Merlin stretched out his legs and leant back, causing him to unbalance and topple from his crate onto the packed earth. “Shit,” he muttered, brushing dirt off his tunic. Two stable boys walking by carrying a pail of water laughed, and Merlin swore good naturedly at them. Once he sat gingerly back beside Tristam, he saw that the other man was grinning freely. 

“Perhaps you could teach the men that move, too.” 

Merlin smiled wryly. “I don’t know, I’m not sure they’re quite ready yet. It’s a bit too advanced.”

“Oh of course,” chuckled Tristam, picking his cloth back up and continuing his chore.

Undeniably curious after last night’s cryptic conversation, and deciding that there would be no better opportunity to dig for information, Merlin ploughed on. “I didn’t see you in the hall for dinner last night.” 

Tristam raised his eyebrows, eyes still on his sword. “You were looking for me? I heard you were up on the top table now, I would have thought you would have better things to do.” 

Merlin paused, unsure how to take that. He hadn’t thought Tristam the type to be jealous or uncertain of his own standing, but he had to admit they didn’t know each other well. 

Seeing Merlin’s discomfort, Tristam shook his head. “’Tis not a slight against you, Merlin. You seem like a good man, even if your sword arm could use some work. I’m not surprised Arthur wants you near.”

“Oh no, it’s not Arthur who wants me up there.”

Tristam shrugged. “All I know is, if Arthur didn’t think you were worth much, you wouldn’t be sat up there. You wouldn’t still be in the castle.”

“Maybe.” Tristam’s words warmed Merlin. Despite getting along well with several in Drassa, he still felt disconnected. The idea that he could contribute something that they needed, that he had a worthwhile role to play here, was a pleasant thought. 

Tristam had drawn him off topic. “But why won’t you come up to the castle? Arthur definitely values you.” 

“It’s not about worth, I- I’m a good armourer, Merlin. I look after the training yard well. This is where I belong. You’re a stranger here. There’s no reason you shouldn’t sit among Arthur and his kin. But this is my home.” Tristam paused and let out a sigh. “I’ll never belong on the top table. And for a little while that’s been… difficult, ’tis all.” 

Percival called to Merlin before he found any answer. As he got up, he nodded at Tristam, unsure what to say. Tristam seemed lost in thought, returning Merlin’s nod with a frown on his lined face.

•

Merlin had hoped to hear more about Tristam and whoever his lost lover was that evening, but no one mentioned it and he felt too uncomfortable to bring it up. Gossiping about Tristam was hardly a fair way to repay his kindness. 

The next morning, Merlin made his way to Arthur’s study as usual. He was nearing the end of his task, his list now containing the details of almost every book on the shelves despite his close study of each one and his afternoons in the training yard. 

When he pushed open the door and stepped inside, Arthur was stood facing the window, the morning sun shining round his head. 

“Merlin!” He turned and clapped his hands in front of him. “Yes. I was wondering if today you could take me through your findings.”

Merlin stood still in the open doorway. “Uh, I haven’t finished listing all the books yet. I’m sorry.”

Arthur waved one hand in the air, moving to sit at the chair behind the table. “No issue. You can show me what you have found.” He paused, frowning at the sight of Merlin still motionless by the door. “Well… are you coming in, Merlin? Or has the corridor something more interesting to say to you than I?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“No, I suppose not,” Merlin replied quickly, closing the door behind him and seating himself opposite Arthur.

“You suppose…” muttered Arthur under his breath, rolling his eyes. “So,” he continued, “have you found anything interesting?”

“The thing is…” Merlin wondered how much to admit. “I don’t actually read Latin or, um, German, so I didn’t understand most of them.” He watched Arthur nervously to see if Merlin referring to something as ‘German’ or not knowing Latin had set off any alarm bells, but Arthur’s expression didn’t change.

“I didn’t ask you to read them, so it’s no matter that your knowledge of languages is somewhat limited.”

Merlin scowled. “If I can’t read them, how am I supposed to know whether or not there’s anything interesting?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I meant the bindings, Merlin, as I told you before you began. Any strange decoration.”

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to know that from what Arthur had said. “No snakeskin,” he said, instead of telling Arthur exactly what he thought of his incredibly vague instructions. “Many of them have lots of illustrations.”

“No snakeskin… perhaps there’s some in the ones you have not listed yet. I was sure there were some.”

Merlin was a little unsure what Arthur’s fixation on snakeskin was. Maybe he was a medieval rare book collector. That seemed normal. Medieval chieftain and specialist collector. When he returned home he could write a book, a ground-breaking exposé on the reality of medieval life. _You’ve got it all wrong, these battles were all for first editions with python-skin covers_. 

“Something amusing, Merlin?” asked Arthur, and Merlin realised he had been sat there grinning to himself while staring off into space behind Arthur’s shoulder.

“Ah, no.”

“Right, well perhaps we can go through the rest of them together, since I’m here. It shouldn’t take long.”

And so, Merlin found himself sat cross-legged on the floor resting a piece of parchment against his thigh as Arthur stood above him, reaching volumes off the high shelves and calling down their titles and authors. With each, he offered throwaway comments about the quality of the binding, the inaccuracy of the maps, the sordid stories surrounding the author. 

“There’s no way he actually married his goats,” Merlin laughed, propping his face on his hand and looking up at Arthur’s indignant expression.

“It’s true! I met someone who knew his nephew, he married them all in a great clan ceremony. Dressed them up in his mother’s old clothes too.” 

Merlin snorted. 

“Oh here,” Arthur said, tossing down the next book. “This was one of my favourites.” It was the first time Arthur had commented on the actual contents of any of the books, or mentioned reading them. He sat down beside Merlin, stretching one leg out beside him and leaning back on his elbow. Without a doubt this was the most relaxed Merlin had ever seen Arthur, even when he had glanced him at a distance having a conversation with Percival or Lance. 

The book was thin, bound in a worn forest green and titled with sewn gold lettering. Flicking it open, Merlin admired several plates of delicate illustrations, one of a knight at the entrance of a dragon’s cave, another showing a young man dressed in vines playing a lute. 

“My mother used to read it to me,” said Arthur quietly, shifting closer to Merlin to look at the pictures with him. Merlin became aware of how closely they were sat, of how still the warm air in the study was, of how the dust motes hung in the air around Arthur’s hair, a soft-looking mop which nearly brushed against Merlin’s shoulder. This awareness should have made him uncomfortable, but he felt no need to move, returning his gaze to the book he held in his lap. 

“The Tale of Eward,” Arthur continued, no longer looking at the book, sprawled back on the floor and gazing at the ceiling high above them. “It’s in there. You don’t know it?”

Merlin shook his head. “No.”

“No, I didn’t think so. Eward was the son of a great musician, Ederill, and his wife Arfadden, who was known to be the most beautiful woman a for a hundred hills in every direction. But Eward was born with no fingers, making him unable to play any of his father’s instruments, and his face was as ugly as his mother was lovely. They say Arfadden cried for three days when he was born. Ederill left their home and journeyed east, searching for someone who could release the curse placed upon his son, and was gone for many years. By the time Eward reached boyhood, he had grown weary of his mother’s sadness at seeing him. During the days he hid away inside from the villager’s curious looks, but at night Arfadden took him out walking among the hills so he could feel the air and look at the stars.”

Merlin had let the book close and slip to the floor, shifting his body so he could watch Arthur speak, his eyes still fixed above him.

“One day,” Arthur continued, his voice quiet, “word came that Ederill had perished on his travels before finding any way to cure Eward’s hands or his appearance. Arfadden was heartbroken, unsure how to go on without the hope of a better future for Eward. She shut herself away, refusing to even take Eward for their nightly walks. Lonely, Eward walked out upon the hills alone night after night, hoping for some way to return a smile to his mother’s face. One night, as he wandered under the dark sky, the clouds shifted in the heavens and a bright full moon emerged, illuminating the land around him in silver light. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he called to the old gods to help him fetch it for his weeping mother. 

“At his cry, the hill beneath his feet rose up through the air until the moon was so close he could pluck it from the darkness with the palms of his hands. He took the shining moon to his mother, and the splendour of it reminded her of all the wonder still left in the world, and released her from her mourning. By its light, she saw beauty in her son’s face for the first time, saw the use of his broken hands. The gods fashioned another moon to take its place, though it is said it only shines half as bright as the one that Eward fetched for Arfadden.” Arthur paused, not moving his gaze from the ceiling. Merlin waited, unwilling to break the peaceful spell that had fallen upon the room while Arthur spoke. “My mother was a sad woman,” he continued measuredly after a minute. “She wept often, and nothing I could do seemed to bring her happiness. I used to dream that I could be as Eward and pluck her the moon from the sky, and all the stars, for her to see the light and wonder in the world again. But the gods never seemed to respond to my cry.”

Merlin swallowed. “She had a beautiful son, I’m sure you brought her joy.”

Arthur smiled sadly. “And I have all my fingers. No, I have no doubt that when I was very small, I was enough. But the moon I wanted her to see never emerged from the clouds. There were too many years of my father’s coldness – or worse, his rage… You have never met a man like my father.”

“I’ve heard what he was like, as chieftain.”

“As a father, he was – well, he was no father. I think maybe as a husband he must have been worse. When they were much younger, he was kinder. Still a strict man, but not unfair. I think he loved her then, and she loved him. It was that memory, the love she still held for a man who no longer existed, as much as his callousness and anger, that wore her down.” He paused. “She took her own life.”

Instinctively, Merlin reached forward and closed his own hand over where Arthur’s lay on the floor, his fingers wrapping around him in some attempt at comfort. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

For the first time since he began the tale, Arthur met Merlin’s eye. A small smile was on his face, and he sighed heavily. “I don’t think she would have done it, had she known that he would banish me without her there. I used to be angry about that, that she could go and leave me with him. But now I’m not, it’s… I would never wish her dead, but if she was so unhappy she felt she had to end her life, I don’t begrudge her that peace. Perhaps that’s not right, perhaps I should shout and rage at her memory. I am glad she never knew how my father failed the clan.”

As Merlin made to move his hand from Arthur’s, Arthur squeezed his fingers quickly before letting go and sitting up, knees folded under his chin. He picked up the book of tales from the floor and skimmed through it, smiling at the pictures before setting it aside.

“I shouldn’t trust you, Merlin.”

Merlin frowned, unsure how to respond. “I-”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re a stranger to the castle,” he continued. “And I don’t know where you’re from – and I don’t expect that you will tell me. Percival is cautious, but he was right to mistrust you.”

“I don’t mean anyone here any harm, surely you can see that.”

“Indeed, I don’t think you’ve any plan against us.” Arthur snorted. “Another clan’s spy would be much stealthier and do more with their days than fall over every time Percival asked them to try to fight with a sword.” 

Merlin felt himself flushing and replied indignantly. “You should see Percival try one of my kicks.”

“Oh, I have,” Arthur laughed. “Percival is one of my most trusted men, a great tactician – and I’ve never had anyone best me at sword fighting as he can. But no, he cannot kick without taking on the appearance of a frightened wading bird, suddenly realising it might topple over in the mud.”

Merlin chuckled at the image.

“Still,” continued Arthur, becoming more serious. “I do not know you, and yet I find myself lying on my study floor in the middle of the day telling you the story of Eward and talking about my mother, of whom I’ve not spoken in over ten years.” He frowned, studying Merlin with an expression of great curiosity. “I cannot make sense of you, Merlin. I believe you are unlike any other man I have ever met.”

“That may well be true,” Merlin replied around the sudden tightness in his throat. 

The crease between Arthur’s eyes deepened. “And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why that might be…”

Merlin shook his head rapidly. “No, I- I can’t.” He found himself unable to lie outright to Arthur, sat there on the sunny floor with Arthur’s mother and Eward’s moon spread out in pieces around them. He could not deny there was anything strange about him, insist that he was merely a traveller from a nearby clan. Most of the castle had seemed to accept Merlin, even welcome him into their fold, with barely a question of his origin. So much so, he suddenly realised, that he hadn’t even had to fabricate a clan of origin, or a reason for his passing through. Somehow, Lance and then Percival had taken him under their wings and everyone else had followed suit, accepting him as part of the castle almost instantaneously. 

Still, Arthur clearly saw some difference in him.

“Maybe, one day,” Merlin allowed, and he was a little surprised to realise it was the truth. If, somehow, he remained at Drassa for a long time – although, even in the privacy of his own head, he could not allow himself to imagine staying there forever, reminding his brain that he belonged in another millennium – it seemed inevitable that he would tell the truth, and completely natural that Arthur would be the one he entrusted with it.

Arthur nodded, and stood, brushing off his legs. He reached a hand down to Merlin, who took it, pulling himself up. Once he stood, their hands separated instantly, though Merlin felt the warmth Arthur’s had left behind. 

“Back to the list.”

•

That night, as Merlin stood to leave the top table after dinner, Arthur reached out and stopped him with a hand upon his wrist. 

“Merlin, join us this evening.” Merlin supposed the request was to sit with Lance, Percival and Arthur by one of the large fireplaces along the wall of the hall, the way he had seen them pass several evenings when he was delayed on his return to his room. They sat with cups of mead in their hands on high-backed wooden chairs, heads bent close together in conversation.

“Alright,” Merlin replied, and moved back to his seat next to Lance, the platters just being cleared from their table by a serving woman Merlin recognised as Bertrand’s sweetheart. He had intended to return to his room and study Gaius’s book as he did most nights, but his heart hadn’t been in it, and Arthur’s request had come as a relief. Merlin could not deny that he missed home, and when he sat and thought about it, he worried what his friends and his mother thought of his disappearance, wondered how he would explain himself when he returned. If he returned. However, most of the time, his modern life seemed utterly removed from the day-to-day of the castle, almost like a distant dream, despite the fact he had been at Drassa for less than three weeks. 

After the hall had emptied and two of the long tables had been moved against one wall to make room for those that slept in the hall, Merlin joined the other three men by the fireplace. The warmth from the flames was pleasant, as despite the warmth of the afternoons, the nights in the old stone castle quickly grew chilled and draughty. Two hunting dogs lay at their feet, ears twitching in sleep. 

As the castle quietened around them, Percival spoke quietly of that day’s training, Lance interjecting once or twice with a comment, usually at the expense of whoever they were discussing. Although Merlin still couldn’t place faces to many of the names, he smiled, enjoying the conversation. After the day spent with Arthur in the study, Merlin enjoyed seeing him relax in the small group, grinning more readily and letting his voice drip with sarcasm to make the others laugh, more the book lover lying on the floor than the chieftain who sat at the table listening to Gavin’s council with a solemn face. 

The mead sat warm in Merlin’s belly and he found himself lazily sprawled in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. He thought he saw Arthur’s eyes darting down the length of his body, but before he could be sure Arthur had turned to Percival and asked him a question.

Before long, the conversation had turned to Dain.

“I can’t see him as a real threat, Arthur,” Lance was saying. “Not without more support. The men here are loyal to you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Arthur replied, “but I won’t be complacent. If Dain has complaints against my rule, it’s likely he will find others to support him, and that could become dangerous.”

Percival frowned. “He has Bertrand’s backing.”

“The fair one?” asked Merlin. “With the beard?”

Lance nodded. 

“He was there, the day I arrived and sparred with Dain. He didn’t seem happy at being passed over for a fight himself.”

“You might be right there,” Percival agreed. “Bertrand is ill practiced at hiding his feelings. There may be others that support Dain as well, who are merely more careful about displaying their loyalties. However, if Bertrand feels any resentment towards Dain, no doubt that will also become clear, which could be advantageous for us.”

Nodding, Arthur took another sip from his cup. “If Dain takes Bertrand’s fealty for granted he’s a fool. An angered ally is often worse than an enemy.”

“I think if Dain missteps, Bertrand will return his allegiance to you. He has merely been seduced by the excitement of whatever dissent Dain’s spreading,” Lance said.

“Listen closely, and tell me if you hear any more whispers of support for Dain against me. I feel no need to act now, but fear ignoring the issue could result in unnecessary bloodshed.” Arthur sighed. “I will try to speak to Dain soon, to see if he has any complaints he wishes to voice, anything that may need change. No doubt I am not a perfect chieftain. I can accept that. If Dain has something to say to my face, I will listen.”

The other nodded, and the issue seemed resolved for the time being. Relaxing, Lance began an anecdote about Padrag falling into a pile of manure after trying to watch the women bathing in one of the interior yards.

“Serves him right,” Percival snorted.

“Don’t you think, Merlin?” asked Arthur, grinning over at him, but Merlin found himself suddenly too sleepy and mead addled to respond with more than a warm smile. 

Arthur’s gaze lingered on him in a way Merlin decided to examine once he was awake and clear headed. For now, the warmth of the fire and the murmur of voices lulled him into a gentle sleep.

“Someone should put him to bed,” he heard Arthur say as he drifted away. Lance made a laughing response he couldn’t quite make out, and then he was asleep.

The warm gloom of the hall disappeared, the sound of the others next to him, the chair he was sat upon, all turned into nothing, until abruptly he was suddenly awoken, coming to with a start. The first thing he noticed was that he was now on the floor, and it was light. Rain beat heavily against the window opposite him, and the computer screen on the desk was lit up, listing a dozen unread emails. A door on the other wall opened, and the unmistakeable figure of his lecturer Gaius entered, Merlin’s presence on his office floor eliciting nothing more than an expression of mild surprise as he shut the door behind him.

“Hello, Merlin,” he smiled.

“ _Shit_.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Gaius!” Merlin gasped, clambering to his feet, still dressed in his medieval clothes. “How am I- how did I get here?”

“Do sit down.” Gaius waved a hand at the chair opposite his desk as he sat himself down, moving a stack of papers off his chair and adding them to the mess on the desk. “Perhaps,” he started once Merlin was settled, “you could tell me how long you’ve been… away.”

Merlin frowned. “Two, nearly three weeks, but surely you know that! Wait – my mum, the others – haven’t we got to call the police or something?” He made to jump back up, his mind whirling, but Gaius stopped him with an outstretched hand and a slow shake of his head. 

“It has not been three weeks here, Merlin. In fact, I leant you _A Historie of the Northerne Inland Tribes and Peoples_ after the lecture this afternoon.” He drew a pocket watch from the pocket of his cardigan. “It is twenty past six.” 

Merlin’s jaw dropped open. “Twenty past _six_? Today? I mean, three weeks ago?” 

Gaius chuckled. “Indeed.”

“But… are you saying I’ve just _dreamt_ all of that?”

“Oh no, certainly not. I am quite sure whatever you have experienced has all happened. Actually, I was rather hoping you could fill me in on your travels. But while many days may have passed for you, merely an hour or so has taken place here.”

“Okay, okay,” Merlin said, closing his eyes briefly. “I’d just about got my head around the time travel, I can manage this…” He opened his eyes. “So that means I don’t need to call my mum? Gwen? Gwaine? They don’t even know I’m missing?”

“Precisely,” nodded Gaius. “They probably just think you’ve missed your bus.” 

Merlin rubbed his eyes with his palms. “Right. But those three weeks still happened. So, I’m three weeks older.”

“If it helps, you don’t look it.”

“Ahh,” Merlin groaned. “How did I even get back here? Wait, am I back for good now? What about-”

“Merlin, Merlin,” Gaius interrupted him. “All things in time. Now, I don’t suppose you have Morgan’s _Historie_ with you?”

“No,” said Merlin shortly. “I have no idea how I even got here. I wasn’t expecting to wake up on your office floor.”

Gaius looked disappointed. “And you don’t just… keep it on you?”

“For three weeks?” Merlin scoffed. He was usually more respectful to his lecturers, and he liked Gaius, but his sudden, uncontrolled appearance back in the twenty-first century was messing with his mind. He had been certain that when he made his way back – or rather _forward_ – it would be as a result of something he did, either with the book or completing his new mission of finding a place for Lance. He was also reeling from the added revelation that barely an hour had passed in his time, even though it had actually saved everyone a lot of stress.

“No, no I suppose not. Well, I suppose you have a lot of questions.”

“ _Yes_.”

Gaius raised his eyebrows and waved a hand, gesturing for Merlin to continue.

“Well… _am_ I back for good? Is this it?”

Gaius shook his head. “I don’t believe so. It’s- where did the book take you, Merlin? What chapter did you read?”

“Uh, chapter nine,” Merlin replied, surprised that Gaius had to ask. “I’ve been in Drassa.”

“Yes, I quite thought as much. No, you will return there. I… people don’t time travel often, Merlin, as I’m sure you’re aware. It wouldn’t be a secret if they did. In fact, it’s really quite rare, and often goes in families. Not everyone travels with that book, but I know of two others who have. They went other places, though.” 

Merlin shut his eyes again. “This is like a stupid film.”

“Indeed,” chuckled Gaius. “And I would appreciate it if you would keep quiet about it all. It’s in everyone’s best interests, you know. Although if a few of your friends here, and maybe those you trust in Drassa, were to find out, that would not pose a threat.” He looked at Merlin over his steepled hands. “Your mother, also.”

“Right… so I’m going back to Drassa?”

“I expect so.” Gaius sat forward and shuffled through some of the papers on his desk, looking for something. “No…no…” he murmured. “Ah, I can’t find it. I had some correspondence a while ago with a friend – the friend who leant me the book. She explained the probable results of someone, of the right someone, using it… No, it’s not here.”

Merlin frowned. “You didn’t think to keep it somewhere safe?” 

“It’s no matter, I remember most of it.”

“ _Most of it_ ,” Merlin muttered under his breath, although Gaius ignored him.

“I believe this is just a glimpse. You must be coming close to whatever you are meant to do in Drassa, after which you will have the choice to return home or stay there forever.”

Merlin exhaled heavily. “Bloody hell.” What Gaius said did seem to confirm what he had thought though, that the reason he was in Drassa was to do something, to help Lance. “You couldn’t have mentioned any of this when you gave me the book?”

“Wouldn’t you have thought I was mad?”

“I mean, maybe,” admitted Merlin, “but at least then when it happened I would have had a clue what was happening.”

Gaius nodded gravely. “Perhaps I was wrong. I wasn’t sure how to mention it… I wasn’t even certain that it would work, that you were the one meant to travel back.” 

A dozen questions crowded Merlin’s mind, but he decided not to spit them all out, suspecting that Gaius’s answers would only create more confusion. “So the book, it’s true history, right? But it’s just a tool to travel with?”

“More or less. To the best of my understanding, one can travel unaided – as, indeed, you have now, albeit unwittingly. But Morgan’s book – a true account, as you say – was somehow bewitched long ago, so that it leads the reader towards whatever it needs. My friend who had the book before me knew she must send it on to me, upon reading it I felt that you were its intended recipient, and when you had it, it took you back in time. The same magic that directs the readers of the book assesses whether or not you have accomplished whatever you are in the past to do. It also enables those around you to understand you, and vice versa.”

Merlin realised he hadn’t even thought about the fact that he could communicate with the people of Drassa so easily, when surely they spoke a different language to him, or at least a version of his that was so much older as to be unintelligible. 

“And you don’t know what my mission is, in Drassa?” asked Merlin.

“Mission,” Gaius laughed, “I like that. No, I have no idea. That is for you to figure out.”

Merlin nodded, deciding not to share his suspicions. “Right – so how long am I going to be here?”

Gaius splayed his hands palm up before him, illustrating that he wasn’t sure. “Not for long. I expect perhaps the next time you fall asleep, when you wake up, you will be back in Drassa, more or less where you left off.” 

“Okay.” Merlin breathed heavily. “If that’s true I might- I might just go and see my friends.”

Gaius nodded. “Of course. Be careful, Merlin.”

•

By the time he got home, Merlin was soaked to the skin. The money he hadn’t had for the bus three weeks earlier he still didn’t have, and it had taken him forty minutes in the rain to get back to his house. Along the way, he had been the recipient of a few odd glances, and he had realised that he was still dressed in his medieval tunic and leggings. 

He also didn’t have his house key, but when he arrived the front door was unlocked, and he pushed it open, running quickly through the gloomy hall and up the stairs to his room to get changed before the others saw him.

“Is that you, Merlin?” he heard Gwen call from the kitchen, and a lump came to his throat. 

“Y-Yeah,” he called back from the top of the stairs, “I’m just getting changed. I’ll be down in a minute.”

He darted into his room and shut his door, leaning against it to catch his breath. This was… weird. Back in Gaius’s office, the whole situation had been so odd, their conversation so ridiculous, that it felt in line with his time in Drassa. But now he was in his student house, in his room with his unmade bed and his Blackadder poster, Gwen boiling the kettle in the kitchen and his Sebastian costume on top of his wardrobe for the evening’s party, the past three weeks felt like a fever dream. It was impossible that any of it had happened. He must be coming down with something. Maybe it was the stress of third year, that’d be it, he must have had a weird hyper-realistic dream in his lecture. He glanced down at his sodden leggings and boots, and sighed. No, this was his life.

Quickly, he got changed into dry modern clothes, stuffing what he took off into the bottom of his wardrobe. He stood in the middle of his carpet for a moment, relishing the feel of a soft T-shirt that smelt of detergent rather than sweat. 

When he entered the kitchen, Gwen was sat at the small table in the corner, hands wrapped around a cup of tea. 

“Kettle’s hot,” she smiled. Merlin nodded and went to make himself a drink, feeling suddenly stilted and unsure in his own house. “You alright?” Gwen asked with a slight frown, watching him with a crease between her eyes. 

“Yeah, um, is there anyone else in?” He finished pouring milk into his tea and replaced the carton in the fridge. 

“No, why?” Gwen put down her drink, pushing her curls out of her face. “Need to chat?” 

Merlin started to shake his head, then nodded. He had thought being back in his house and seeing his friends would be enough, would make him feel completely normal. But it hadn’t; it felt weird, like neither the past few weeks in Drassa nor his normal life in Caerwent were completely real. Gaius had said he could tell some of his friends about it all, and if he were to tell anyone, it would be Gwen.

“Come on, sit down,” she said, pulling out the chair next to her with her foot. Merlin sat down. “What’s up?”

“It’s… Gwen, it’s going to sound ridiculous.”

She raised an eyebrow. “More ridiculous than your normal shit?”

A surprised laugh burst out of Merlin. “Yes. Much more.”

“Alright.” She smiled. “Hit me.”

So Merlin told her, beginning with staccato sentences, unsure how to start explaining to his best friend that he’d been time travelling for the past three weeks. Once he began, however, the words sped up until they were running fast from him, and he realised quite how much he wanted to share this all with somebody. He and Gaius had discussed some of the details earlier, but there had been no one to whom Merlin could relate the whole story, no one who could share in the madness of it all. He told Gwen about Gaius giving him the book, about arriving at Drassa, about Lance and Percival and how he worked on Arthur’s books. Staring down at his cooling cup of tea, he described the castle and the valley, the food and the clothes and everything that had combined to convince him that, somehow, extraordinarily, it was all real. 

He didn’t mention the history of Drassa, didn’t dwell on his long conversations with Lance and Arthur. 

After the words ran out, they sat in silence for a few minutes, the rain tapping constantly against the kitchen window.

“Okay…” Gwen began, her knuckles white on her mug. “Do you need, like… is this a cry for help thing, Merlin?”

He shook his head frantically, having told the story, now desperate for it to be believed. “No – it’s all real. Honestly, I know it sounds just- ridiculous. But it’s true.” 

She frowned. “I mean… I want to believe you. It’s a bit of a thing for you to make up, and honestly, I’d rather suddenly discover time travel is possible than have you delusional. But surely you can see how it sounds.”

“I know!” Merlin stood up. “My clothes – the clothes I was given there – they’re upstairs in my room, I changed when I got home, see, that’s why I didn’t come in to say hi. I’ll go get them.” 

Without waiting for a response, he ran upstairs, pulling his damp clothes from his wardrobe and thundering back down to the kitchen.

“Look.” He held them out and Gwen took them gingerly by the edges. 

“Well, someone’s worn them in the rain,” she agreed. “You didn’t have time to wet them just now and they’re _soaked_ , seriously Merlin, the kitchen floor.”

“Damn the floor, Gwen! Look at them – _properly_. There’s no labels, or normal seams. They’re not modern clothes.”

She screwed up her nose, turning the tunic and leggings over in her hands. “They _are_ pretty scratchy. And I’ve seen the inside of your wardrobe dozens of times; these are new.”

“ _Right_. The rest of it’s all true too.”

Gwen still didn’t look convinced, but her eyes lingered on the clothes where she’d placed them on an empty chair. “Okay, then.” She drew out her phone. “What’s the name of this place? Drassa?”

“Yeah.”

She bowed her head over the screen. “Well, it’s a real place. Or rather, was a real place. Not far from here at all, actually. It says here the castle was destroyed in-”

“Wait,” Merlin interrupted. “Don’t tell me,” he said quietly. 

Gwen looked at him in consideration, nodded, and put her phone on the table. “Just… this isn’t some joke, right? Gwaine’s not about to burst in, filming all of this, is he?”

“ _No_.”

“There’s… something. I’m not saying I believe you fully, or maybe I do, I just can’t think about it like that. Maybe it was easier for you to accept because you were, you know, there.” At Merlin’s face, she shook her head. “No, I’m not saying it would be easy… _was_ easy. But I’m just sat at my kitchen table after a perfectly normal day at uni, and my best friend tells me he’s a Time Lord all of a sudden.” 

Merlin laughed. “Alright, I get it. It’s weird. Super weird. I’m still not… now I’m here, now I’m saying it, I _know_ it’s true, but it still feels like it can’t be.” 

“Yeah. But if you were cracking up and imagining yourself time travelling to… when exactly?”

“Uh, I don’t actually know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.” She picked her phone back up off the table and began to tap at it quickly before glancing up. There must have been something in Merlin’s face, because she stopped and set it back down. “That’s it,” she continued. “The rest of it… I mean, it’s imaginative, Merlin, I’ll give you that. More than I usually expect from you.” She grinned. “But it’s just a story, really. One with great details, but a story all the same. But your _face_ … when I was going to tell you about the castle getting destroyed, or just now. You got this look, like you couldn’t bear knowing. As if I was going to tell you when your mum’s going to die, or something.”

“It’s weird.” Merlin frowned down at his hands. “I know that it’s in the past, that Drassa, that all the people, they’re all gone now. Long gone. I get that. But somehow, knowing what’s going to happen, it would make me feel… When I’m there, Gwen, when I was there, it was super weird, sure, but it felt like I belonged. I was part of it. I ate with them, and talked with them, and who knows, if I stay longer I might see the equinox feast and maybe I’ll learn to sword fight properly – and I’m not saying I _will_ stay, I don’t even know if I can, really, but…”

“You care,” Gwen finished for him. She reached out a hand and squeezed one of his where it rested on the table. “That’s not a bad thing, Merlin. It’s the most real of all of this. It’s the most believable. I know you, and you care a lot, and you care about these people. About Lance and- what was it, Percy?”

Merlin nodded. “Percival, yeah.” He swallowed. “And Arthur.”

“Right. That’s not bad. Caring. The rest, you’ll figure out. You’re smart.”

He smiled sadly at her. “You’re the smart one, Gwen.”

She shook her head. “You’ve got this.” Withdrawing her hand, she sat up. “You’re going back, Gaius said? Soon?”

“Yeah.” Merlin sighed. “I don’t know when, exactly. Don’t know how any of this works.”

“Seems to me,” Gwen smiled, “if you could come back because you were starting to see your way- right?” Merlin nodded. “Then it’s all about what you’re doing. Not minutes or days. You’re there for as long as you need to be, stands to reason it’d be the same for this… visit.”

Merlin chuckled. “See, I told you that you were the smart one.”

“I’ve not been proved right yet,” she grinned. “So… I’m guessing you’re not coming to the party tonight?”

“Shit. No, I- I don’t think so. I have no idea when I’ll go back to Drassa, or even how I’ll go back. And I’m not sure my heart’s fully in my Sebastian costume.”

“You wouldn’t want to let Freya down by being a lacklustre lobster.”

Merlin grinned. “A lacklustre lobster. Say that ten times drunk. Or shit, is he a crab?”

“Don’t know,” Gwen laughed. “Lobster’s got a better ring to it though. More dignified.”

“Dignified?” Merlin snorted. “Have you _seen_ the monstrosity on top of my wardrobe?”

Gwen reached over a pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry sweetums, I’m sure a lopsided, cardboard lobster-crab is someone’s idea of a hot date.”

“Sure.” The two of them looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing again. A tremendous sense of relief had filled Merlin now that Gwen seemed to believe him, the release of a great breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

After the laughing fit passed, Merlin took another sip from his mug, tapping it with his nails. “Gwen, I wish you could come with me. Maybe you can, I don’t know. I’d just… like for someone else to see it all. So you could understand, you know, truly see that it’s all there. And there’s so much good about it too, I mean I know I’ve only been there three weeks, but most of the people are great, and the way of life… it’s different, but it’s not worse.”

She smiled. “I’d like to see it too, you know. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly believe it without seeing it, even if that’s bad of me. But I doubt I can – and anyway, I quite enjoy indoor plumbing and my civil liberties, so…” 

“You’ve got a point.” Before they could say anything else, they heard the front door open, followed by Gwaine’s cheery cry of greeting. “Right,” Merlin whispered urgently, “not a word to any of the others, right?”

Gwen nodded.

•

That night, Merlin lay fully dressed on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’d begged off the party, claiming violent food poisoning, and had only escaped Freya’s disappointment over the phone by pretending to be noisily sick. Gwen and Gwaine had left an hour ago, Gwen darting into his room last minute to offer to stay behind. He had encouraged her to go to the party, and she had relented after assuring herself that he seemed alright, hugging him tightly as she left.

After the front door shut behind them, Merlin had been filled with a sense of melancholy. Earlier, talking to Gwen, he had felt only urgency, desperate that she believe him and immensely relieved once she did. His conversation with Gaius had made him confused and irritated in parts, but only now, alone, did he feel sad. If he returned to Drassa shortly, his hug with Gwen would be the last for who knew how long – weeks or months. He didn’t dare contemplate never returning, although the idea lurked around the edges of his head menacingly no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Gaius had said he would have a choice, and surely then he would be able to return to Caerwent. Yet the thought of that made a tense knot of dread form in the bottom of his stomach, his mind shying away from both never returning to the twenty-first century and leaving Drassa for good. 

Several times, he had opened up his laptop and turned it on, only to push it aside again. His phone was dead, stuffed under the spare mattress of his room in the castle, but he could contact his mother with his laptop. One time, he went as far as launching Facetime and hovering the cursor over her contact, but snapped the lid closed before he could call her. There was no way he could explain the whole situation by videocall, and any other conversation would feel false. Anyway, he reasoned with himself, there was no reason he had to talk to her. He’d be back, if he even returned to Drassa in the next day or so. And even if he spent a fortnight or a month in Drassa, it seemed that barely any time would pass for those he left behind, so while he might miss his mum, there would be no reason for her to miss him. 

Once he’d decided not to talk to his mum, he was left gazing at the damp stain on the ceiling, the one in the shape of a fat fish. There was no one to talk to, and nothing he really wanted to say. In Drassa, he’d convinced himself this was easy. The past few days, it had felt like a mission. Travel back in time, make friends, sort Lance out, come home, job done. But now, he couldn’t deny it was something much messier than that. He might be in Drassa for a mission, but that mission controlled time, seemingly deciding when he would return to Caerwent without him having a say in the matter. Now, he was waiting expectantly to be swept back to Drassa. What if he just disappeared after working things out for Lance, without even a chance to say goodbye? What if he didn’t, and couldn’t get back to the modern day?

Groaning, Merlin rolled over onto his side. He was thinking himself round in circles. Maybe it would all be clearer after a rest. He shut his eyes, and couldn’t help wondering if the next time he opened them he’d be back in the castle, unsure whether that was what he wanted or not. Despite his fears, and the fact that he was still fully dressed with the overhead light glaring down at him, he quickly fell asleep, drained from the afternoon’s conversations.

He was awoken by the sound of a door opening, and sat up, disorientated and blinking blearily at the harsh light. Gwen stood in the doorway of his room in Caerwent, swaying slightly in her _Pulp Fiction_ costume and clutching a half-eaten piece of toast. 

“Hey,” he croaked. “Good night?”

The question seemed a little surreal after all they’d talked about earlier, but Gwen smiled in response. “Yeah, ’s good. Gwaine’s _gone_.”

He laughed. “Always is. Lightweight.”

She waved a hand vaguely at the ceiling. “Jus’ thought I’d get your lights.”

“Thanks.”

“Night, Merlin.” She flicked the switch and the room went dark, a few stripes of orange from the streetlights outside finding their way through the blinds and spreading out across the floor. Merlin heard the door close behind her and the sound of her walking down the hall, humming. The bathroom door opened with a click and the extractor fan whirred on, then all was quiet. 

A little more alert, Merlin stayed upright, thinking. He’d drifted off earlier, unknowing where he would wake up, still dressed in his modern clothing. Despite managing to avoid any searching questions about his clothes the first time he arrived in Drassa, Merlin didn’t want to risk doing it twice. Unsure what would happen the next time he went to sleep, he stood up and rummaged in his wardrobe for the medieval clothes he had returned earlier, swiftly getting changed in the dark. The tunic was scratchier than the T-shirt he’d just taken off, although the outfit did feel familiar after three weeks’ wear. He crawled back into bed, tugging his duvet over him and closing his eyes.

The next time he awoke, there was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He was warm and comfortable and somewhat reluctant to wake up. 

“C’mon, Merlin,” a voice said. “To bed with you.”

He opened his eyes to see Arthur’s grinning face startlingly close to his own, blue and gold flickering in the firelight. He squeezed his eyes shut and swore colourfully. 

Lance laughed from somewhere over Arthur’s shoulder. 

As Merlin made no move to get up, Arthur shook him again. “Merlin, come on, is something wrong?”

Sighing, Merlin reopened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, clutching Arthur’s arm when he found himself a little unsteady. “No,” he replied, as Arthur wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him upright, glaring daggers at Lance, who seemed desperate to comment. “Just odd dreams.”


	8. Chapter 8

Percival was sparring Dain, both of them stripped to the waist. Sweat glistened at their temples, and their faces were red with exertion, despite the coolness of the cloudy afternoon. The ringing of their swords filled the corner of the courtyard, Dain pressing forward with wide swings while Percival darted around him, employing his recently improved agility. 

“They’re both taking this way too seriously,” Lance grumbled from where he stood next to Merlin alongside several others, watching the fight.

Bertrand snorted from the other side of Merlin, his arms crossed over his chest. “Dain is the stronger fighter. Look how Percival’s dancing around, unable to parry his strikes.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Dain’s superior, is he? I wonder why he’s not head of Arthur’s guard, then.” 

“Some would say there’s more important jobs than heading up Arthur’s guard,” Bertrand retorted, his eyes narrowed as he watched the fight. 

“Oh, like what?” scoffed Lance. “Getting into his cups and scrapping with near anything that moves? Or following Arneth round like a lovesick mutt?” 

Before Bertrand could leap to Dain’s defence, Merlin interrupted. “Would the two of you both shut up?” Bertrand looked taken aback at being spoken to in such a way. “I’ve got a nasty headache.”

“Ah yes, a bit too much mead last night,” Lance chuckled, his annoyance with Bertrand seemingly forgotten. 

“Something like that,” Merlin muttered, watching as Dain lunged forward, losing his balance as Percival twisted past him and stumbling. 

“I’ve got to say,” Lance continued, “there’s something in what you’ve been showing us, Merlin. Percival never fought like that before, and it’s working.”

Dain got to his feet, sword lowered. Percival stepped forward and clasped his arm, speaking with him briefly in a quiet voice before walking off to the water barrels and splashing his head and chest.

“Well, he’s taken to it pretty quickly.”

Lance smirked, watching Percival splash water through his cropped hair. “Yes, he cuts an impressive figure, doesn’t he?” He arched an eyebrow at Merlin. “Shame Arthur’s not sparring here today.”

Merlin swallowed. “He’s usually too busy.” Lance remained silent, grinning at Merlin as he shuffled uncomfortably. “Don’t know what you’re on about,” Merlin grumbled, looking away across the yard. Bertrand had stalked off after Dain once the fight was finished, and the two of them now stood with their heads bowed close the other side of the main gate. Merlin saw them glance over at him in unison and quickly looked away.

“Of course,” Lance replied, clasping Merlin’s shoulder. “Now, I’ve a mind to take my horse out on the hills, since that charming display’s over.”

“Do you want any company?” Merlin offered, before realising that he had very little idea how to mount a horse, yet alone control one, and would probably either make an utter fool of himself or break several limbs. 

Lance released Merlin’s shoulder with a pat and stepped away towards the stables. “Oh no, you stay here. Perhaps Percival would welcome more of your _excellent_ tuition.”

•

Merlin had spoken to Percival for a few minutes companionably, but it quickly became clear that those remaining in the training yard were focussed on sword fighting, and with Percival busy overseeing them, Lance gone, and Tristam busy in the armoury, Merlin decided to return to the castle. He usually stayed outside late enough to only return indoors to eat, but there were several hours yet until the evening meal. He found himself wandering a little aimlessly, walking through two of the interior courtyards, one of which was filled with half a dozen small children tossing stones at a pattern of marks drawn on the wall in soot. He ducked down a dark hall behind the courtyard and around a corner, losing the sound of the children’s shouts, continuing through the maze of the castle in his idle exploration. On a spiral staircase in a corner he had never been to before, Merlin passed Alys, her arms laden down with a pile of clothes, and she smiled in greeting before passing quickly on down.

The staircase emerged onto the end of a thin corridor with several thin windows facing out the back of the castle, and Merlin paused to watch the river flowing far below. Lengths of heavy cloth in dark red and embroidered green were fastened away from the windows, and the straw underfoot was pale and clean, clearly newly laid. Two doors stood opposite the windows with a fat, unlit candle between them. 

Before Merlin could move on, Arthur appeared through the archway at the end of the corridor, his head bowed and eyes fixed on the piece of parchment he held in his hand, frowning. 

Merlin coughed.

Arthur looked up with a start, coming to a stop a couple of metres away and tucking the parchment away. “Ah, Merlin!” 

“Hello.” Merlin paused, suddenly feeling a little out of place. “Uh, everything alright?” he asked, tilting his head towards where Arthur had slipped away the parchment.

“What? Oh- yes, fine.” Silence fell between them again. Arthur took an awkward step forward. “Merlin, I-” He paused again. “What are you doing up here?”

“I was just… wandering around. Exploring, you know.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “Right.”

“Is it, um… are these your chambers?” Merlin asked, suddenly worried that he’d committed an awful faux pas and was about to be dismissed angrily. 

“Oh, no, they’re…” Arthur waved vaguely back the way he’d come. “Well, that way. No, this is where my cousin stays. Stayed.” He stopped again, making eye contact with Merlin and then looking away quickly. “Will stay, actually.” 

Merlin had no idea who Arthur’s cousin was. “Right, well, that’ll be… nice then.” 

“They were my mother’s chambers, a long time ago,” Arthur added, ignoring Merlin. 

Silence fell between them again. Arthur made no move to leave, but he was studiously looking at the floor about a foot to the right of Merlin, so Merlin wondered if perhaps he ought to go so that Arthur could do whatever he came up there to do in peace. 

“I’ll go, then, shall I? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” 

He took a step back the way he’d come as if to leave, but Arthur stepped forward quickly, grasping Merlin’s forearm. “No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. He didn’t let go of Merlin’s arm, and they stood close together in the quiet corridor. Arthur finally looked at Merlin again, his eyes a startling blue. “I just came to see if it was clean, for Isolde’s arrival.” He swallowed, and Merlin watched the movement of his throat. “She’ll be here in a couple of days, you see.” 

Merlin nodded, his brain unable to formulate a sensible response. The sun emerged for a moment, streaming through the windows in thick stripes, turning the ends of Arthur’s hair to gold. 

“It’s a nice view from up here,” Merlin rambled, nodding his head toward the window without breaking eye contact. 

Arthur’s eyes darted to the window and nodded. “Yes.” His hand was still warm on Merlin’s sleeve, although his grip had lessened. “It’s above my study.”

“Ah,” Merlin replied, watching the light play across Arthur’s face. He felt a little drugged, disarmed by how strongly Arthur’s proximity seemed to affect his ability to make decent conversation. “That makes sense,” he croaked at length.

Arthur let go of his arm and took a step back, before quickly appearing to change his mind and pressing back in, grasping both of Merlin’s wrists. “Merlin, I-” He shook his head. “It’s… I spoke to Percival this morning, but I don’t…”

Merlin was lost, his reduced brain function unable to understand the relevance of Percival. He couldn’t countenance why anyone would start talking about Percival when the light was darting through the air in just the right way to highlight the blue of Arthur’s eyes, and the air was so still that every breath sounded heavy. Besides, Arthur had trailed off, so clearly the Percival story couldn’t be that important. 

“If I…” Arthur started again, swallowing hard. “If I’m wrong, I…” He leant forward, closing the few inches that remained between them, his nose sliding slowly against Merlin’s as the air in the corridor became so stifling that Merlin was, with the small part of his brain still operating with normal efficiency, vaguely certain that the castle must be on fire. Before he could worry too much about it, however, Arthur’s mouth met his, and there was no room left for thinking at all. 

They stood pressed together, Merlin’s arms twisting in Arthur’s grasp until he could clasp their hands, slipping his fingers between Arthur’s as their lips joined in soft kisses. Merlin made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat and Arthur pressed forward, their mouths meeting with increased pressure. Arthur dropped one of Merlin’s hands to wrap an arm around Merlin’s back, drawing him against him until their bodies were tight against each other, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. 

Merlin couldn’t have said how long they were there. Each kiss was tempered with a gentleness that kept it from becoming too heated, but still his breathing was ragged and one hand had risen to clutch at Arthur’s hair by the time they heard voices on the stairs and broke apart quickly. 

Merlin swiped a hand across his mouth, watching Arthur as the voices came nearer. Two women appeared, laden down with piles of fabric, falling quiet when they saw their chieftain stood in the corridor. They nodded their heads as Arthur greeted them, and moved into one of the chambers, closing the door behind them. 

Arthur took a deep breath. “Merlin, I- I have to go. But- tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow. I needed to, uh, talk to you anyway.” 

Blood still pounding in his ears, Merlin nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“I-” Arthur started, before breaking off and shaking his head. His eyes were a little wide, giving him the appearance of a startled animal, Merlin thought. He darted a glance over his shoulder at the closed door through which the women had gone, before stepping forward and pressing a hasty kiss to Merlin’s mouth. Breaking off, he shook his head again and swore lightly, before turning and disappearing back the way he had come. 

“Bloody hell,” Merlin muttered once he was alone in the corridor, although as he made his way back down the spiral staircase and through the castle, he couldn’t help the wild smile that crept onto his face.

•

However, the next day when Merlin went to Arthur’s study after breakfast, Arthur was nowhere to be seen. After a night’s sleep, the previous afternoon seemed distant, as if it had happened to someone else, although the memory of Arthur’s mouth on his was undeniable. During the evening meal, he had largely avoided looking at Arthur and had listened with half an ear to what Percival was saying. Lance was sat beside him, uncharacteristically withdrawn, and Percival had frowned at their lack of response before turning to Padrag for a more responsive audience. When he retired to his room, thoughts of Arthur had quickly turned to thoughts of the day before, when he had been back in Caerwent, speaking to Gwen. He couldn’t see how kissing Arthur was going to make the whole situation less complicated, yet felt no regret. In fact, remembering how Arthur had asked to see him the next day, tingles of anticipation had curled his toes. Even if they didn’t kiss again, he reasoned, talking might help make everything clearer. After all, just as Gaius had suggested he explain everything to Gwen, he had also permitted Merlin to share it with some of those in Drassa. 

All things considered, he was rather disappointed to find Arthur’s study empty. 

He began sorting through the remaining books, finding that he was taking far less time to look through each one now that his mind was even more preoccupied than usual. He had been adding to the list for almost an hour and was becoming a bit restless when the door opened and Arthur entered. 

“Oh,” Merlin said, looking over from the shelves. 

Arthur raised one eyebrow. “Cleverly put.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and set the book in his hand back in place. The spell that had bound them together the previous afternoon was not as strong, and Merlin was still able to think coherently, but he found himself grinning a little mindlessly all the same. 

“Pleased to see me?” Arthur teased, moving over to the table and sitting down, gesturing with one hand to the chair opposite him. Merlin joined him, but didn’t take the offered chair, instead leaning against the edge of the table next to Arthur, putting his weight back on his hands. 

“I expected to see you here earlier.”

Arthur looked away, the smile falling from his face. “I had something to deal with,” he responded, and Merlin noticed for the first time a redness around his eye. 

“Did something happen?” He leant unconsciously forward, reaching out one hand as if to tend to the pinkness that warmed the skin around Arthur’s left eye and cheekbone, but stopped himself before he touched skin. 

Arthur reached out and took his hand, drawing it down but not letting go of his fingers. “No, all is well. Dain simply took exception to his new assignment. Or rather, his relegation.”

“And he _hit_ you?” Merlin asked, surprised. Surely punching the chieftain was a greater offence than Arthur’s behaviour would suggest.

Arthur smiled wryly. “No, else he would no longer be within these walls. He asked to spar against me as part of the morning’s training. I shouldn’t have accepted, as he was angry with me, but I thought it might help.” He paused. “I won.” 

“I bet he was angry,” snorted Merlin. Angering Dain was probably not good for the stability of the guard but Merlin couldn’t deny it filled him with a small surge of pleasure. While he barely spoke to Dain, he had caught several looks cast his way and knew from Bertrand’s behaviour and comments from the others that Dain was no great supporter of Arthur, and was a terribly sore loser. 

“Yes, it probably did more harm than good.” Arthur sighed. “Perhaps that will have cooled his temper, however.” He squeezed Merlin’s fingers, then let go.

Merlin took back his hand, but wasn’t yet willing to let the conversation go. “Why did you reassign him?”

“I’ve sent him back to the normal guard, whereas he has been part of Percival’s band for some time. Now he’ll have to take more watches, man the gates. Really, it was Percival’s decision, but I thought he wouldn’t take it well from him.” He laughed lightly. “Not that he took it very well from me. He still doesn’t accept my authority – and he’s not the only one.” 

“Is he a threat?”

“Lots of questions this morning,” Arthur retorted, crossing his arms across his chest. When Merlin merely shrugged, Arthur continued. “I don’t know. I hope his loss of status makes him less of an appealing alternative for those who currently chose to follow him.”

Merlin nodded. “Like Bertrand.”

“Yes, like Bertrand.”

Merlin paused. “Was that what you meant, yesterday, when you said you’d spoken to Percival?” He didn’t really think that it was, considering the context Arthur had mentioned it, but he had wanted to bring up the previous afternoon. Judging by Arthur’s amused expression, he realised what Merlin was up to.

“Actually, it was,” he replied, grinning. “Well, we did talk about it. But we talked about something else, too, and seeing as his insight had proved invaluable there… He told me I looked at you a certain way. And that you returned that look.”

“Well,” Merlin said, standing up straight and taking a few steps away from the table. “I don’t know what he was referring to.”

Arthur got up and followed him, prowling across the study in long, easy steps. “No?” 

Merlin shook his head. “No idea,” he bluffed, as Arthur crowded him back against the shelves. “I don’t know what anyone would see in you.” Arthur pressed his hands either side of Merlin’s head and Merlin realised absently that they were almost exactly the same height. “To be honest, I think you’re a bit of a git.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh really?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes.”

“And what would make me less of a git?” Arthur asked. “Maybe if I… did this?” He kissed Merlin’s cheek. “No?”

“No.”

Arthur sighed. “What about this?” He ducked his head and brushed his lips to Merlin’s jaw. “Or this?” he asked, kissing Merlin’s other cheek.

Merlin wrinkled his nose and gave Arthur an assessing look. “No, still look like quite a big git.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Arthur said, drawing back to arm’s length, keeping his hands on the shelves by Merlin’s head. “Looks like I am condemned to spending the rest of eternity as ‘quite a big git’.”

“You idiot,” Merlin chuckled, stepping forward so that Arthur was forced to move his arms and turning them around until Arthur’s back was up against the books.

“Oh, I’m an idiot now, am I?” Arthur retorted, but any further reply was lost as Merlin ducked forward and kissed him.

•

“Have you finished sorting all those books yet, Merlin?” Lance asked as they sat outside the stables with Tristam that afternoon, Lance nursing a set of cut knuckles from an unfortunate swing that morning. 

“No, not yet,” Merlin replied, watching Tristam polish a wicked-looking knife. Training on the yard in front of them were several of the usual men, Dain’s absence glaringly obvious to Merlin as he looked about, although he supposed that was only because of that morning’s conversation with Arthur. 

Lance frowned. “How many can there be?”

“Well, I spend every afternoon here with you lot, don’t I?”

Lance held up his uninjured hand. “Alright, no need for that. ‘You lot’, indeed. I’ll have you know that my company is very highly sought after.” He grinned, the asymmetry of his face move obvious as half of his mouth tilted up into a smile while the other half refused to move. 

Tristam chuckled, head still bent over the knife on his thigh. “Never had much of a problem with your ego, have you Lance?”

The smile Lance gave in return was hollower, and quickly fell from his face. Feeling a need to change the conversation, Merlin remembered what he and Arthur had talked about the previous afternoon, before- well, he thought, flushing, just _before_. 

“Arthur mentioned someone coming to stay in a couple of days, did you know about that?”

Lance shook his head and frowned. “No, he hadn’t mentioned it. Who?”

Merlin paused, having expected Lance to be fully aware of Arthur’s plans. Perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be common knowledge. However, Lance and Tristam were two of Arthur’s most trusted men, and now Merlin had brought it up he could hardly say it was no one. “His cousin, he said.” 

Tristam’s hand stilled on the knife, but he didn’t look up. 

“Did he say a name?” Lance asked, his eyes darting to Tristam. “He’s got quite a few cousins.”

Feeling uncertain with the sudden tension in the air, Merlin nodded. “Um, yes. Isolde, I think?” 

The effect was immediate. Tristam’s head shot up and he pinned Merlin with a hard stare. “Isolde? You’re quite certain?” His voice was as calm as it ever was, but there was a certain urgency to the question. 

Merlin nodded. 

Tristam stood up. “I need to talk to him. Lance, do you know where he is?” 

“Are you sure it’s wise?” Lance asked, frowning up at Tristam. “It might be best to wait until your temper has cooled.”

Tristam shook his head. “I’m not angry, I just need to speak to Arthur.” 

“Try Gavin’s rooms.” He paused. “Even if she’s coming back, it doesn’t mean…”

“I know.” Tristam bowed his head. “There could be many reasons. But I need to know. He owes me that. They both do.” With that, he nodded at Merlin and set off for the castle, leaving the knife next to Lance. 

Merlin swallowed. “What was that? Should I not have mentioned it?”

Lance sighed. “I forget that you have been here such a short time. Do you remember us speaking of why Tristam avoids Arthur?” 

“Yes, although I didn’t fully understand it. There was a woman- Oh.” 

“Indeed. Isolde, Gavin’s daughter – Gavin was Arthur’s mother’s cousin, you see. Arthur sent her away to stay with her aunt when he became aware of Tristam’s feelings towards her, and that they were returned.”

Merlin frowned. “But why? Tristam’s a good man.” 

“And Arthur knows it – he’s not foolish. He doesn’t want to lose Tristam, but sending Isolde away has caused a rift between them.” Lance looked out over the yard, pressing a cloth firmly against his cut knuckles and wincing. 

“I don’t understand why he had to send her away, if they both cared for each other. Surely that’s a good thing.”

Lance shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Arthur about that. I’m not certain why, either, and even if I were, it’s Arthur’s place to tell you.” He looked at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. “He’s not a bad chieftain, Merlin, I know that you know that.”

“It just seems unfair, if he has no reason for it.”

“Perhaps he does,” Lance replied. “Anyway, if she really is returning, maybe things are changing. But ’tis not right for us to sit here and chatter about it, not when we don’t know all of the facts.” He grinned. “And not when we could be trying to get Percival to kick higher than his head again.” He stood up. “Come on.”

Merlin followed him, still a little unsettled by the conversation. “It was very funny last week,” he admitted as they walked towards where Percival stood, watching two men spar. “Did you see his face before he fell over?”

Lance chuckled. “Definitely worth repeating.”

•

It seemed that the more Merlin wanted to talk to Arthur, the less he saw him. He had decided to catch Arthur after the evening meal, or failing that, early the next morning, to ask about Isolde. He still wondered if the time was right to tell him about the time travelling as well, as he had half been planning to do in his study. Merlin couldn’t imagine it being an easy conversation, but the closer they got, and the more time he spent with Lance and Percival, he was finding it harder to imagine keeping it from them all much longer. However, despite his best efforts, including questioning a harried serving woman and stalking the corridors around Arthur’s study, he was without luck. Once, he passed Arthur in a corridor, deep in conversation with Gavin and another man Merlin only vaguely recognised. Arthur had met his gaze and given him a wicked smile, but there had been no opportunity to talk. 

Frustrated, Merlin worked his way through a pile of Arthur’s books before realising he had added their details to his now extensive list in the wrong place, and had to rewrite it all. 

That evening when he entered the hall for dinner, there was a buzz about the place, and it took a moment for him to realise that there was another figure at the top table, a fair-haired woman in a deep purple dress.

Hastily, Merlin took his seat between Lance and Percival. “That’s Isolde, then?” he asked.

Lance nodded. “Only just arrived.” He nodded his head to one of the other tables, where a clutch of unfamiliar men sat. “They’re her guard.”

Before any food was served, Arthur stood up, raising his goblet. “I hope you will all join me in welcoming my cousin Isolde back to Drassa.” He paused and Isolde smiled slightly, her eyes scanning the long tables filling the hall. “We thank Elyan, Gerant and Aladar for their service in accompanying Isolde on her journey.” At this, Arthur gestured with his cup to the unfamiliar men at the end of one of the tables, who nodded in reply. “Now,” Arthur continued, “let’s eat.” He was smiling out at the hall, although now that Merlin had seen him relax in private, he could see the reservation in the smile he gave his clan.

As food was brought out and set in front of them – greater in quantity and variety than the usual dinner – Merlin looked around the hall as Isolde had. 

“Where’s Tristam?” he asked quietly.

Lance shrugged, taking a slice of cured meat from the platter in front of him. “I’ve not seen him.” 

“Do you know what happened after he went to find Arthur yesterday?” Merlin had felt tense after telling Lance and Tristam of Isolde’s return, worried that he had caused a fight. 

Percival, sitting at the end of the table, shook his head, looking down towards where Arthur and Isolde occupied the middle seats, Isolde speaking quietly to Gavin. Merlin assumed that Lance had told him about the conversation Merlin, Lance and Tristam had had in the yard the previous day. “Arthur did not even tell us that he had called her back to Drassa,” he said, frowning. “Perhaps he did not want our advice, knowing that we disagreed with his decision to send her away.”

“Still, it is unlike him,” Lance agreed, reaching for a basket of dark rolls. “Bread, Merlin?”

Merlin took a roll absentmindedly, wondering why Arthur was ignoring not only him but apparently two of his most trusted friends as well. His preoccupation must have shown on his face, as Lance reached over a rested a hand on Merlin’s wrist. “I would not fret on it, Merlin. Arthur is still fairly new to being chieftain, and he does not know how to manage his own mistakes without losing face in front of his clan. I suspect he was merely too proud to come to us.”

“Well, that’s just arrogant,” Merlin scowled, poking his food idly with his knife. “No one expects him to get everything right, surely.”

“No, but Arthur still feels the weight of his father’s rule upon him,” Percival replied, mouth full of stew.

Lance glared pointedly at him. “Really, Percy, you eat like a horse.” He glanced at Merlin. “Many of us believe Arthur was wrong to send Isolde away. The fact that he has welcomed her back to the castle, even if he did so without consulting those who perhaps he should have, will sit well with most of the clan. Besides,” he waved his knife down the length of the table, “Gavin is Arthur’s main advisor, though we may be his closest friends. I expect they talked of it.”

Somewhat appeased, Merlin nodded. Even so, he was irritated that he had been unable to have a conversation with Arthur over the past couple of days. If he really had been avoiding Merlin, along with Lance and Percival, Merlin was going to have a few words to say when he did get a private moment with Arthur. 

“Still,” Lance continued, dropping his voice and leaning forward towards Merlin and Percival, “It doesn’t explain where Tristam is. Maybe he and Arthur quarrelled even worse than before.”

Percival frowned. “I hope not. It has been difficult enough with Tristam avoiding Arthur as much as he can. We can’t have our armourer hiding from the chieftain.”

“Maybe he just didn’t want to reunite with Isolde in front of everyone,” Merlin chipped in hopefully. “You said they had only just arrived; Tristam probably didn’t have time to talk to her before dinner.”

“Perhaps.” Lance shared a doubtful look with Percival and Merlin sighed, diverting his attention back to his plate. 

Percival hummed thoughtfully. “Merlin, how did you know that Isolde was returning?”

“Yes,” Lance nodded, “I forgot to ask you yesterday, with Tristam there, but neither Percival nor I knew…”

Merlin swallowed his mouthful uncomfortably, sure that the truth of his afternoon rendezvous with Arthur in the corridor outside Isolde’s chambers would show on his face. “I just bumped into Arthur,” he told them. “And he told me.” 

“Right,” Lance said slowly. “And you haven’t seen him since?”

“Well, I did, uh, see him yesterday morning. But that was before I knew about Tristam and Isolde.” Merlin caught Percival’s eye and blushed, suddenly remembering the conversation between Arthur and Percival that Arthur had told him about. Percival was watching him measuredly now, unsmiling.

“Didn’t talk about it, then? When you saw him yesterday?” Lance probed, his attention ostensibly focussed on his food.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “No, we didn’t.”

Lance nodded thoughtfully. “Bit distracted, were you?”

“What- oh, you _shit_ ,” Merlin said as Lance started laughing. He looked at Percival, who was grinning widely. “Enjoyed that, did you?” Merlin grumbled.

“It was just a lucky guess,” Lance admitted. “I mean, you did tell me what you’d said to Arthur,” he directed at Percival, who raised his cup in a mock salute. 

“I am very wise,” agreed Percival. 

Merlin tried to keep scowling at them both, but couldn’t stop himself rolling his eyes. “I haven’t been able to speak to him since, anyway.”

Lance waved a hand in the air. “He’s been busy with Isolde’s arrival, especially since he didn’t get us to help him, since he’s feeling all sullen and secretive. No doubt he will want to _converse_ with you soon.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Bastard,” Merlin muttered, taking a glug of his mead to hide his red face. 

“Talk to him tomorrow,” Percival agreed, his grin only slightly smaller than Lance’s. He continued on a more serious note, “I would talk to him as well, ask him why he did not trust us with his decision.”

At this rate, Merlin thought, Arthur was going to have a rough time of it tomorrow.

•

When Merlin walked down to the training yard the following afternoon, he was surprised to see Tristam fighting, his sweat-soaked tunic and damp hair suggesting he had been sparring all morning. 

“Afternoon,” Percival greeted him when he reached him, eyes on the fight. 

“Spoken to Arthur?” Merlin asked, watching as Tristam executed an impressive move with his sword, causing his opponent to leap back unsteadily.

Percival shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen him since he shut himself away with Gavin and Isolde last night. He didn’t come out to train this morning like he usually does.” He glanced sideways at Merlin. “I suppose you have not seen him either.”

“Didn’t come to his study all morning,” Merlin shrugged, although he was feeling concerned about it. It wasn’t that it was unusual not to see Arthur while he worked on the books, but after the changes in their relationship over the past week, he had expected Arthur to seek him out again. Besides, he still wanted to ask him about Tristam, and the last time he had tried to have a conversation with him they had become distracted quickly. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to tell him about the whole time travel fiasco before winter. 

In front of them, the fight was finishing, Tristam’s obvious skill and stony-faced conversation easily besting his sparring partner. As the other man surrendered, a few of those gathered around expressed their admiration and offered to fight against Tristam next. Tristam ignored them, cooling himself off at the water barrel and drying his face with a rag. 

Quickly, Merlin walked over to him. “Tristam.”

Tristam turned, looking unsurprised to see Merlin next to him. He nodded. “Good day, Merlin.”

“Tristam, I…” Merlin lowered his voice. “I wanted to apologise if I caused any trouble between you and Arthur yesterday.”

Walking away from the barrels, but slowly enough to allow Merlin to walk with him, Tristam shook his head. “You need not apologise. For one, you did not know of what you spoke.” He paused by the stable door and smiled at Merlin. “Isolde’s return brings me great joy, Merlin. My… quarrel with Arthur is not something you should concern yourself with.”

“Surely you can resolve it now,” Merlin pushed on rashly. “I know Arthur’s acted like a fool, but he’s clearly seen he was wrong, and Isolde’s back, so it’s fine, right?”

“Merlin,” said Tristam, a crease between his eyebrows. “Do not concern yourself,” he repeated. Despite his fighting fervour, Tristam seemed as calm as always, but Merlin could tell when his input was unwanted. 

“Right,” Merlin nodded, stepping backwards away from him. “Sorry, and, well, thanks.”

Tristam nodded in acknowledgement, and disappeared into the stables.

•

That night, after the evening meal, Merlin waited until everyone had begun to settle down, the tables moved aside in the hall for people to sleep and the corridors emptying. He walked through the castle quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself although he supposed he was perfectly entitled to wander around. 

The stone walls were dimly lit with flickering candles in holders, and the straw underfoot muffled his steps as he made his way up to where he believed Arthur’s chambers were. Tristam and Arthur’s differences were evidently still unresolved, and Merlin was sick of it. There seemed to be no reason Tristam and Isolde couldn’t be together, no reason for Arthur to send her away, and no reason for him to act so oddly now that he had seen the error of his ways. It wasn’t fair to Lance and Percival that Arthur was shutting them out, and it wasn’t fair to Merlin to have Arthur start kissing him and then avoid him. They were going to talk, and if Merlin had to track Arthur down in his own rooms to do so, then he would, pride and propriety be damned. 

Merlin found his way up the same staircase he had taken before to the chambers Isolde was using. He walked quickly past the closed doors, unwilling to be found lurking outside by one of the women attending Isolde. He reached the archway at the end of the corridor and turned right. A short flight of steps led down to a single doorway lit by flickering candlelight. Past the door, the corridor fell away in another set of stairs. 

Taking a deep breath, Merlin stepped up to the door. He stood there for a moment, heart beating a rapid rhythm inside his chest, before knocking sharply. 

For a moment before the door opened, Merlin wondered what he would say if someone other than Arthur opened the door. Or what if it was Arthur’s chamber, but he wasn’t alone? Before he could decide what to do, however, the door opened.

Seeing Merlin there, Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

Arthur was backlit, the fire and candles in his room much brighter than the corridor, and his hair and skin were tinged gold. He wore only a loose white shirt over his leggings, strings open halfway down his chest. His feet were bare.

“I need to talk to you,” Merlin spat out quickly, before he could change his mind. Arthur didn’t say anything, merely lifting his other eyebrow. Merlin sighed. “Look, can I come in?” 

“All alone, in the chieftain’s bedchamber? Are you certain that’s a good idea?” Arthur asked mockingly, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I want to _talk_.” 

Arthur stepped back, one hand on the door. “Come on in, then.”

Merlin entered, walking past him into the room. As Arthur shut and latched the door behind them, Merlin looked around. The fireplace was wide and stoked, giving out more light than the low embers that warmed the hall at night, or the small fire in Merlin’s chamber. A large desk stood under the window, which was covered by heavy furs against the coolness of the night. Papers and ink lay spread across the surface, and the way the chair was pushed back across the floor at an angle suggested that Arthur had been working there before Merlin’s knock.

Confirming Merlin’s theory, Arthur slid past him and sat down, crossing his ankles out in front of him and looking up expectantly. Merlin glanced at the rest of the room, his eyes pausing on the large four poster bed, its posts intricately carved in the same style as the chairs in Arthur’s study. Heavy fabric hangings and furs made it a thousand times more welcoming than his own straw mattress on the other side of the castle.

Arthur pushed himself half out of his chair, gesturing towards the bed. “Unless you’d rather…” he began, grinning teasingly. 

Merlin scowled at him, urging himself to keep on track. Besides, going to bed with Arthur, though undeniably appealing, felt a little intimidating with Arthur sprawled in front of him in glorious dishabille, his head cocked and eyes glinting in the low light. 

“No,” he replied at length, dragging a padded stool over from the fireplace to sit near Arthur. 

“Very well,” Arthur nodded, folding his hands in his lap and toying with his ring idly. “What did you wish to talk about, so late at night?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t in bed, you can’t make me feel bad for coming here.”

Arthur shrugged a shoulder. “I did not intend to.”

“I want to talk about Isolde.”

At this, Arthur looked surprised. “Isolde?”

“Why didn’t you tell Lance or Percival that she was coming back?”

“Ah,” Arthur sighed. “Look, Merlin, I can’t justify all of my decisions to you.”

Merlin folded his arms across his chest. “Try.”

“Very well. I knew that they – and several others – were unhappy with how I… handled the situation to begin with. They had voiced their concern, and it seems they were right. Separating them made Tristam very difficult to work with, and Isolde wrote her father that she was unhappy with her aunt.” He looked away across the room, frowning. “Isolde and I were quite close in our youth, although she is several years younger than me. After my return to Drassa, I realised how important she and Gavin were. I cannot be chieftain alone. The presence of my kin is not only a comfort and a counsel to me but also strengthens my position.” 

Merlin nodded slowly. Arthur’s decision not to consult his men about Isolde’s return still seemed ill advised, but he could appreciate the complexity of Arthur’s position. “I still think you should have talked to the others, but I get it. Well, kind of. I get that it’s hard.” 

“Was that everything?”

“No, I… Well, I saw Tristam this afternoon, and I know he spoke to you before Isolde got here.”

“He did,” Arthur confirmed. 

Merlin swallowed. “He didn’t seem very happy though. And he wasn’t in the hall last night. If Isolde’s back, why are the two of you still at odds?”

“You get your nose into everything, don’t you, Merlin?” 

“Look, if you’re not going to answer-”

Arthur held up a hand. “No, I’ll tell you. He did come to speak to me yesterday afternoon. Perhaps I should have told him, at least, of Isolde’s return, but I was unsure how he would take it. Despite our recent differences, Tristam is one of my most loyal men and I value his expertise greatly.” He paused. “I asked Isolde to return because she was unhappy, and because I became aware that I had made the wrong decision. Overreacted. A good leader cannot press on through his mistakes for fear of appearing weak. It is better to listen to those near me who disagree; I’ve learnt that now. I feel certain that having Isolde back in Drassa is the right thing to do, however it does not mean that I support a match between the two of them, and I told him so. He understands.”

“I’m not sure he does,” Merlin replied hotly. “He was angry today in the training yard. Besides, why ever not? Tristam’s a great man, you just said so yourself! I saw him fighting this afternoon, and he’s got to be as good as Percival.”

“I know that Tristam is a good man, Merlin, but there is a difference between a valuable member of the clan and someone I would allow to marry my cousin.” 

Merlin scoffed. “So what, he’s not good enough for your family?”

“It wouldn’t be wise,” Arthur argued, flinging one arm over the back of his chair. 

“That’s ridiculous!” Merlin stood up, pacing in front of the fireplace. He knew his outburst probably wasn’t the best way to reason with Arthur, but he couldn’t help his frustration. “If they care about each other, they should be together!”

“A marriage to Isolde would distract Tristam from his duties. It would separate him from those he fights amongst. He would become closely related to me, and thus his station would rise above that which he holds now, that which makes him good at his job and keeps the castle balanced.” Arthur took a deep breath, watching Merlin. “And there are better matches for Isolde to make outside of the clan.”

Merlin threw up his hands. “Better for who? For her? For Tristam? Or for your politics?”

Arthur pushed himself up from his chair, stalking over to Merlin. “So in your clan, anyone may marry whomever they chose? You would have your chieftain’s sister marry a farmer, no matter that his farm would fall to ruin or her future would be marred by the match?”

“Tristam’s not a farmer! He’s one of your most trusted men!”

Scowling, Arthur pressed forward until he was chest-to-chest with Merlin, their bodies almost touching. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, lifting his chin obstinately. “In my… clan, you may marry at will.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “At will? The chieftain may marry a serving woman, his daughter a pig farmer?”

Merlin nodded.

“And what else?” Arthur continued, his voice low and quiet. Neither of them broke eye contact, their faces close enough that their breaths mingled in the air between them. “In your clan, what other freedoms do you have?” He paused, his eyes darting down to Merlin’s mouth briefly. “May a man marry another man?” 

Merlin paused, frozen. He kept his eyes on Arthur’s, the side of his face hot from the fire. The room was quiet, the only noises the crackling of burning wood and the thrumming of his own pulse under his skin. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes,” he croaked.

“Where are you from, Merlin? Tell me the truth.”

Merlin swallowed, his eyes filling with water. The fight had left him, and the inevitability of this conversation swept over him. Whether or not Arthur could believe him, what he said next would irrevocably change their relationship. 

“I’m from very far away,” he began, and Arthur nodded gently, his expression no longer hard with righteous indignation but soft in the face of Merlin’s uncertainty. “Look – can we sit down?”

Arthur nodded, and drew Merlin over to the chair. They sat together, Merlin half on Arthur’s lap, their shoulders pressed tight together. “Go on,” Arthur requested, his nose pressed against Merlin’s head. 

However, just as Merlin took in a breath to continue, there came a loud banging at the door. 

“Sire!” someone called through. “Quickly!”

They leapt up, Merlin standing by the desk as Arthur strode over to the door and unlatched it, flinging it open. 

A man Merlin vaguely recognised stood there, out of breath and white faced. “There’s a fever,” he spat out, eyes glowing wide in the light from the room. “Several outside the keep are ill already, and Elwyn’s son just died.”

“Any in the castle?” Arthur asked, his voice clipped and serious. 

The man nodded. “A few. Two of the women went to the upper chambers to check on everyone after a couple in the hall collapsed. It’s Gavin.”

“How bad?”

“He’s sweating out already. Isolde is with him.”

Arthur span around. “Merlin, I-”

“Go,” Merlin said quickly, and Arthur nodded, grabbing a cloak and his boots, tugging them on hastily before following the man out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the lovely comments! Hope you enjoyed this one.


	9. Chapter 9

By the morning, the castle was in a tense state. A dozen people were abed, including Gavin and Bertrand. Many of the servants had ceased their usual duties to clean out rooms, burning the bedding of those who were ill and opening all the doors to air out the castle. Several of those usually at the training yard had joined them, and Merlin stood between Padrag and a middle-aged serving woman, pressing herbs into cloth pouches to hang at the heads of the feverish. He was unconvinced by the medieval medical methods, but had no idea what modern alternatives would help a fever, so having no alternative to offer, and no way to explain his lack of conviction in the bagged herbs, he simply helped.

“I don’t understand how it could have appeared so suddenly,” Merlin frowned.

The woman next to him passed him a length of cloth for him to slice. “’Tis the way of these things, sometimes. My aunt and my grandmother were healers under the chieftain before our chieftain’s father. They said fever can strike a castle awful quick, with two dead before anyone knows they’re sick.” She pressed a hand to her breast. “Only one dead yet, but a child, poor thing.”

Merlin swallowed. The reality of life here struck him heavily as he saw people scurrying around in a desperate attempt to stop an illness they did not fully understand. He had never seen anyone really sick before, apart from when his grandfather had died in hospital, and he had been old and frail. The idea of a child just dying of a fever before anyone could do anything unsettled him. 

“Here,” he said, passing his finished pouch to Padrag, and starting a new one.

•

It wasn’t until late that afternoon that Merlin saw Arthur again. They passed in a corridor, and Merlin stopped Arthur with a hand on his arm.

“How is it?” he asked quietly.

Arthur looked away. “Gavin is… very unwell. Cedric tells me two of the others should come through before long, and the fever of one of those first taken ill outside of the keep has broken.”

Merlin nodded. “Will it all be that quick, then?”

“I do not know. It seems some of the others may remain feverish for several days before we know if they will survive.”

Merlin squeezed Arthur’s arm and received a weary smile in response. 

“Last night-” Arthur began, but Merlin cut him off before he could say anything else.

“Another time. Your clan needs you now.”

Arthur nodded. “Bertrand is among the ill,” he added. “He is young and strong, so hopefully…”

“Go,” Merlin told him, releasing his arm. “Do what you need to do.” 

Arthur clasped his hand and strode away along the corridor, Merlin turning his head to watch him go.

•

The activity continued through the evening, with people moving quickly around the castle, from the herb garden to the wells, to where several fires were lit, burning the bedsheets and clothes of those who had been taken ill. Supper more subdued and quicker than usual, the top table missing many of its usual occupants, including Arthur and Isolde. Merlin saw Tristam eating at one of the other tables, his lined face tight and weary. When the night had fallen fully, and the fires were dying in the great hall, Lance took Merlin’s task from his hand.

Merlin blinked up at him blearily.

“Go to your bed,” Lance urged. “Everyone in the hall needs to sleep now. It’s no good to anyone if we’re all collapsed with tiredness.”

“Anyone else taken ill?” Merlin asked, standing up and stretching his aching arms above his head.

Lance shook his head. “Thankfully, no. And no more dead,” he added at the look on Merlin’s face.

Merlin nodded and bade him goodnight, leaving the hall for his room. There, he slept fitfully, fully dressed on his mattress. When he lay awake in the early hours, he found himself full of fear for those sleeping feverishly elsewhere in the castle. Nobody he was particularly close to was ill, but the threat of the fever and its potential casualties to Drassa rested as a weight low in his gut. There was more for him here than his friendship with Lance or Percival, he realised, more than his desire for Lance’s peace or Tristam’s happiness, more than whatever there was between him and Arthur. The castle itself and the clan had become important to him in a way he could not yet define. 

Unsettled, he found himself unable to sleep much more, and watched from his bed as the sun rose through his window. The sky was clear, the lack of clouds promising a hot day that Merlin would have celebrated in Caerwent, but cursed. Still, the dawn was beautiful, rose and orange swept up from the horizon until the sky turned blue and the smudgy grey shadows of the hills became green with light. 

At breakfast, Merlin found Lance talking quietly to two of the other warriors. 

“Merlin,” he greeted unsmilingly, his face set in a solemn mask. 

“Has something happened?” Merlin asked.

Lance nodded. “Two more fevers have broken.” He paused. “But Gavin is dead.”

•

Merlin made his way upstairs without eating, fixated on the need to find Arthur. He didn’t know exactly where the ill were being treated, but it wasn’t hard to find them, set in chambers a corridor along from Arthur’s study. Several people, the healer Cedric among them, moved between mattresses, tending to those still feverish, desperately keeping them cool as the morning’s promise gave way to a warm day. A woman next to where Merlin stood was drenched in sweat, her eyes twitching under their lids and her breathing unsteady. On the far side of the room, those whose fevers had broken were drinking and picking at plates of dry food, their faces pale and clammy. 

Nodding to one of the guards, Merlin ducked out of the room, taking a deep breath once he was back in the nearly empty corridor. Further along, he saw Arthur, who was staring out of a window, hands clasped tight at his back. 

“Arthur,” he called, walking towards him. 

Arthur turned his head slowly and tilted his head in acknowledgement before turning back to the window.

Merlin stood at his side, reaching out a hand before drawing it back, seeing the way every muscle in Arthur’s body was held tight like a bowstring. “Where’s Isolde?” he asked quietly.

“She left,” Arthur said. “I told her to go, in the night. It was late.” He let out a heavy breath. “Gavin had made no change in hours, I thought…” 

Gently, Merlin placed the palm of his hand between Arthur’s shoulder blades. “She needed to sleep. So do you.”

“This morning, she was… she was so angry at me.” He glanced at Merlin. “I would be too.”

“You weren’t to know.”

Arthur shrugged. “No, but that doesn’t matter to her. Without me, she would have stayed there with him and been there in his last moments. He was feverish; he never regained consciousness. But I stopped her from being able to bid him goodbye.”

“Where is she now?” Merlin asked, following Arthur’s gaze out over the courtyard.

“I’m unsure. I thought she would go to Tristam, but he’s out there alone.” 

“Go find her,” Merlin urged him.

Arthur shook his head. “She will not want to see me.”

“You’re her family. You said it last night. You need her, and she needs you too. Especially now.”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “I made the wrong call, again. The castle cannot depend upon me, especially in a time like this, when it’s clear I do not know how to lead them.” 

“That’s nonsense!” exclaimed Merlin, before lowering his voice and leaning in closer. “No one was to know Gavin was about to die. This fever’s come on so quick.” He tugged on Arthur’s arm. “Hey, look at me.” Reluctantly, Arthur turned his head. “Look, Arthur, your people need you. They need you and they trust you. But you need to believe that you can do it yourself, else no one else will.”

“It’s not that simple, Merlin.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, still clutching Arthur’s arm. “Find Isolde. The two of you need to grieve for Gavin together. Talk to her. Then re-join the rest of the castle and get us through this.”

Caught by the fervour in Merlin’s words, Arthur nodded, and walked away from Merlin to where one of the guards stood outside the chamber of those still ill. They exchanged a few words and the guard nodded, gesturing down the stairs, and Arthur left.

•

The next two days passed in a cloud of anxiety and quiet conversations. Merlin only saw Arthur from a distance, walking through the hall and speaking quietly to people, organising a line of men to pass cold water up from the wells to where the ill were. Late one evening, Merlin spotted Arthur comforting Lyra, who had been grinding herbs and nuts into a healing paste all day, her face heavy with exhaustion and fear. 

After two days, all but two of those still ill had come through, their fevers breaking, and were recovering. He hadn’t ventured up to the chambers where they were since he had spoken to Arthur, feeling incompetent in the face of the fever. It seemed the most they could do was wait. 

As the hall filled for the evening meal, Arthur entered for the first time since Gavin’s death. He took his place at the top table but remained standing, waiting for quiet before speaking to the assembled clan. “The fever has passed,” he announced, and a rush of relief ran around the room. He held up his hand, face solemn. “Most of those taken ill have recovered, thanks to the care and hard work of everyone in the hall, and I thank you all. However, we have lost several members of the clan. Elwyn’s son Eoin.” He paused and raised his cup, everyone following suit and drinking to the dead boy. “My advisor and close kin, Gavin.” Again, they drank. “And a valued member of the guard, Bertrand.”

Merlin raised his cup and drank again automatically, although his mind was reeling. Eoin had been young and Gavin old, but the death of a strong man like Bertrand who could have been no older than thirty-five came as a shock. 

Still standing, Arthur turned to the door of the hall and gestured with one hand. Merlin peered past him and saw Isolde and Tristam entering and approaching the top table. 

“This is a time of mourning,” Arthur continued. “However, we must also celebrate those around us and embrace the fact that we yet live. In times of darkness we realise what is most important to us.” Briefly, he turned his head and found Merlin’s gaze, nodding to him almost imperceptibly. “And so it is with the memory of Eoin, Bertrand and Gavin in my heart that I express my support, as chieftain of Drassa, for the marriage between Tristam and Isolde.”

There was a pause as everyone took in what Arthur had said. Merlin glanced at Lance, who looked shocked, and Percival, who was smiling slightly. After a moment, a cheer went up and the hall quickly filled with shouts of congratulations. Tristam and Isolde stepped up either side of Arthur and he took both of their hands, raising them before the assembled clan. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Merlin murmured. 

Lance shook his head slowly. “No, nor was I.”

“You must have had quite an impact on him, Merlin,” Percival added. 

Tristam and Isolde sat down at the top table to the right of Arthur. Isolde looked a little wan, her hair drawn back simply from her face, but when Tristam rested his hand atop hers and spoke to her quietly, she smiled and accepted the food he served her. 

“He’ll be good for her,” Lance said, watching them as well. “I’ve known Isolde all my life, and she’s strong. She’ll get past Gavin’s death, especially now she has Tristam.” Percival made a noise of agreement, tucking into his own dinner. 

“What a week.” Merlin exhaled heavily.

Lance chuckled. “Indeed.”

“And Bertrand…?” Merlin asked.

“He has no close family here,” Lance answered. “I am sad to see him pass, sad to see any member of the clan die in such a way. But he was unwed, and his mother died long ago.”

Merlin glanced around the hall as he began to eat, spying Dain in a far corner, his face stormy. Perhaps Bertrand had had no family to mourn him, but he had been Dain’s right hand, and Merlin couldn’t help but wonder how his death would change things with Dain. Hopefully, he thought, breaking off a heavy crust of pastry and popping it into his mouth, it would all be for the better.

•

A week later, after the dead were taken far from the castle walls and buried, and those recovering were returned to their own homes and chambers, the castle slipped back into its usual rhythms. Merlin had kept an eye out for Dain whenever he was in the courtyard, but Dain was rarely there, and when he was, he stood separate from the group and did not take part in the afternoon sparring. Lance seemed somewhat withdrawn. Though he fought in the training yard as often as he usually did, he absented himself quickly after dinner each night and was quiet during the meal, leaving Merlin with little opportunity to talk to him. 

On the other hand, Percival was training the men with enthusiasm. “Bertrand’s death was a blow,” he told Merlin one afternoon in the yard, “but something like this can bond us all together again. Reduce internal pressure.” Merlin nodded; the fever and those lost to it had inspired a similar feeling of unity in Arthur, and Merlin felt it as well, the increased desire to be within the castle and amongst its people. 

Tristam had begun assisting Percival with training, a move that caused no surprise. Merlin supposed that it was Tristam’s natural place, as head of the yard and of the armoury, and probably what he had done before his behaviour had changed after Isolde was sent away. Once, Merlin wandered down to the yard after breakfast before retreating to Arthur’s study, and saw Arthur sparring Tristam, their movements quick and powerful. After the brief fight, Arthur had clasped Tristam’s shoulder and the two had shared a few words, Tristam smiling. Each night, Tristam and Isolde had sat on the far side of Arthur at the top table, their heads usually bowed together in soft conversation. Those who commented upon them seemed pleased by their reunion, and Merlin was curious to speak to Arthur, to ask him about his change of heart. He also couldn’t forget their previous conversation, the night the fever struck, and the revelation Merlin had been close to sharing. It seemed, however, that Arthur was back to his game of hide and seek, passing Merlin quickly in the training yard and not venturing near his study when he knew Merlin to be working there. 

After a few days of waiting to bump into Arthur, Merlin grew frustrated. It was completely understandable that Arthur’s attention had been diverted by the fever, and the need to care for the ill and dead, to comfort the bereaved and maintain strong leadership in the castle. Yet even if it was selfish, Merlin couldn’t help but think that surely, after a week, Arthur could spare an hour to talk to him. There were several things he needed to say. So, one afternoon, when he would usually head down to the yard or perhaps sneak something to eat from the kitchens, he instead remained in Arthur’s study. He had a book open in his lap, one of the few remaining to be sorted, but paid it little attention, glancing up at the door every minute in expectation of Arthur’s arrival. There was no guarantee that Arthur would come to his study, but especially with Gavin dead, Merlin thought it likely.

Eventually, after a half hour that felt like a day as Merlin chewed the forthcoming conversation over and over in his head, the door opened. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said with mild surprise as he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “I did not expect you to be in here.”

Merlin scrambled up to his feet, setting the book aside. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Making his way over to the table and sitting down, Arthur nodded. “It has been a long week,” he cautioned, rubbing one hand across his brow.

Merlin sat opposite him quickly. “I know. You must be exhausted, I mean, I am, and I’m not the chieftain or anything, I just…” He waved his hand around. “Look at books.”

“Don’t forget your kicks,” Arthur added with a smile. “Percival’s improved at quite a rate.”

Merlin snorted. “Thank you.” He bowed his head.

“But I doubt that’s why you lay in wait to speak with me.” 

“No…” Merlin looked away out of the window, watching the way the early afternoon sun lit up the river like silver. He swallowed and turned back to Arthur. “Why did you change your mind about Tristam and Isolde?”

Arthur shook his head. “When the fever struck… I was afraid. Afraid for the clan, yes, but afraid I wouldn’t be able to lead us through it properly.” He caught Merlin’s eye. “Afraid I could only lead like my father.” He paused, then chuckled. “I seem to be making a lot of mistakes recently,” he continued wryly. “I should never have sent Isolde away, I see that clearly now. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do – for her, and him, as well as anything else. My politics,” he added, parroting Merlin’s words back to him. 

“They seem happy,” Merlin prompted.

Arthur nodded. “They will be. I am glad she was here when her father died. Glad she has someone by her side now. I am just unsure how to avoid making the same mistakes again.” The way he looked at Merlin then was desperately open, his eyes vulnerable as they never were in front of the clan.

“I don’t know,” Merlin replied honestly. “But you care about it. You care about them all. You want the clan to survive but you want them all to be happy too.” He squeezed his eyes shut, then smiled. “Seems like a pretty good start, if you ask me.”

They sat opposite each other in silence for a minute, the air still and warm. Arthur tapped his ring against the carved arm of his chair, the slow tap the only noise apart from the distant voices drifting in through the window. 

“Arthur,” Merlin began cautiously, his gaze fixed on Arthur’s face. “I need to tell you something.”

Arthur met his eyes. “Yes.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Will it change things?”

“Yes,” Merlin echoed. 

A flash of something passed through Arthur’s eyes. Merlin saw the tiredness lining his face, the droop of his wide shoulders, the way his hair hung unkempt around his ears. “And you must tell me?”

“I-” Merlin broke off. “I have to. But- maybe not today.”

Relieved, Arthur held out a hand. “Come here.”

Merlin stood up and walked around the table to him, taking his hand and sprawling over his lap in the chair. Arthur pressed his face into Merlin’s neck, kissing the skin above his scarf with a chaste brush of lips before closing his eyes. Strips of sunlight caught the edges of the table, the chair; of Arthur’s arm and shoulder and where the two of them came together in a jumble of limbs and quiet breathing. Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair and let the afternoon slip away from them. 

That night after dinner, Merlin caught Lance’s arm before he left the hall and persuaded him to join them. The four of them sat by the fire, dogs at their feet and cups in hand. Percival carried the conversation, and several times managed to draw Lance from his study of the dancing flames, pulling a laugh from his lined face. Through the dim light, Merlin caught Arthur’s eye and raised his cup to him. When Arthur smiled in response, his gaze heavy lidded and soft, Merlin wondered whether he ever needed to tell them anything at all.


	10. Chapter 10

The following day, when Lance rode out of the castle, Merlin followed him. On foot, he had no chance of catching up with him but hoped to intercept him on his return, or if he stopped. It had rained in the night, the hot weather breaking and water cleaning the dirty yard, washing the walls of the castle dark grey. His boots slipped a little on the path up the hill, and he kept his eyes fixed on each step he took on the dark earth. 

At the top of the hill, Merlin paused, a little out of breath. He surveyed the castle below him, remembering his first sight of it. Now his gaze was filled with knowledge. He saw the figures moving below, too distant to identify easily, and knew who they would be, what they would be doing. There was Percival, overseeing the training; the blacksmith, walking to the water barrels and pausing to talk to the guards at the gate; two redheaded girls blocking the path with their game until their mother tugged them away. The whole system worked like clockwork, everybody moving around each other in an endless dance, each day the same, with no weekends or deadlines. The view was the same as it always had been, but caring about those in the castle made it breathe, becoming more than walls and dots. 

He turned away, strolling along the path over the hillside. Unsure of where Lance was, he had no destination in mind. Sticking to the main path as he walked, Merlin admitted to himself that it would have been a lot easier to find Lance inside the castle. In fact, it would have been a lot easier to just not track him down at all. Merlin paused, looking back over his shoulder to where the tops of the castle’s walls were just visible over the brow of the hill. Lance was, after all, a grown man. If he wanted to spend some time on his own, he was perfectly entitled to.

Merlin had more or less made up his mind to return to the castle when he heard the sound of a horse approaching and span around to see Lance. 

“Whoa,” Lance called, pulling his horse up and swinging off its back. He walked over to Merlin, leading his horse behind him. “I was not anticipating seeing you here.” 

“No,” Merlin agreed, deciding to cut straight to the point. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Lance frowned minutely, but nodded and spread his hands. “Here?”

Merlin glanced around; there was no one else within eyeshot, and now that he had Lance in front of him, he was reluctant to return to the castle where they could both be distracted. “If that’s alright.”

“So, what is it?” Lance asked, resting one arm over the horse’s back. 

Merlin shuffled where he stood. “I just wanted to ask if you were okay. You’ve been… quiet, since the fever.”

“’Tis very well of you to ask, Merlin, but I’m fine, don’t worry yourself.”

“Well, I hope you know you could talk to me, if you want. I know you’ve got the others, but I’m not from here, I’m an outsider.” He shrugged. “Might be easier.”

Lance eyed him carefully. “But you’re far from a stranger here now. You care. You care about me, that’s why you’re stood here, and you care for Arthur and Percival and Tristam.” He paused, looking over Merlin’s shoulder towards the castle. “Tell me, when you look at the castle now, after last week, how do you feel?”

“Um, I feel… closer to it.” Merlin wrinkled his face up, unsure how to express what he felt about Drassa, a complex mess of feelings he hadn’t yet sorted through himself. “Like we’re all bound together.” 

Lance laughed humourlessly, running a hand over his horse’s flank. “You see, when I look at it, it’s like seeing all these tragedies layered on top of each other. When Isolde’s at the top table, Gavin should be there too. I saw Elwyn yesterday, and just thought that Eoin should be with him.” He sighed. “I see Dain and remember that his father gave me this,” he said, gesturing at his scar. 

Merlin swallowed, unsure what to say. 

Lance pulled himself back up onto his horse and smiled sadly down at Merlin. “It’s just the way it is,” he told him. “The way it always will be, for me.”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

“I know. Thank you, Merlin.” He cocked his head. “You’re a good friend. Now – I’m heading back to the castle. I’ll see you later.”

Merlin nodded and watched as Lance rode away. He frowned at the disappearing figure, unsure that he _had_ been a good friend. Certainly, nothing he had said had made anything better for Lance. Perhaps, he thought as he began making his way back to the castle, his mission of helping Lance find peace at the castle was beyond him. 

As he walked, it started to rain, wetting his hair flat to his head and making the ground more slippery underfoot. “Could’ve given me a ride back,” he grumbled to himself, picking his path down the hill tentatively as the rain kept pouring down.

•

Merlin stewed over his conversation with Lance for the rest of the day. At dinner, he sat next to Lance and Percival as had become his habit, but didn’t join in their conversation. He caught Arthur’s eyes several times, remembering the last time they had been together in private with a mixture of pleasure and sadness. Despite what he might hope, Merlin could imagine no future where he stayed in Drassa without telling Arthur the truth, and no future where he told the truth and there were no consequences.

After eating, he slipped out of the hall and made his way back to his chamber. For the first time in a while, he lifted up the spare mattress and studied the book for a while before bed, but there was no curiosity to it anymore, and he had no expectation that it would take him back to Caerwent. It seemed the mysteries of time travel didn’t rely on a magic word or reading a certain page at a certain time, but rather whether Merlin had played his part in Drassa. Growing frustrated, he shoved the book back away and went lay down, gazing up at the dark ceiling until sleep finally overcame him.

The next morning, Merlin was still preoccupied by his concerns over Lance and Arthur. In the great hall, he picked at his breakfast, frowning at the table. Arthur, unusually, was present, speaking to Tristam a few chairs down. He had nodded and smiled at Merlin as he entered, and Merlin had smiled in return, glad for the extra sight of him even if his mind was in turmoil. 

However, before Merlin could decide whether to try to speak to either Arthur or Lance, or simply head up to Arthur’s study to pretend to catalogue the half a dozen remaining books, his eating was interrupted by a shout from the main doors at the far end of the hall. 

“Arthur Pendragon!” Dain yelled again, striding through the hall. His jaw was clenched and one hand rested on the hilt of the sword resting at his hip. 

Several people sat at the other tables had stood up as he passed, watching carefully, and Arthur too rose. “Dain,” he called as the other man approached, “what are you doing?” 

Dain didn’t answer immediately, stalking forward until he was stood several feet from Arthur, the top table between them. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve come to issue a challenge.”

A sharp intake of breath ran around the hall, and more people stood up, some moving to the sides of the halls and others gathering together by the tables. None moved to stand behind or alongside Dain. 

Slowly, Arthur made his way around the end of the top table, moving to stand in front of Dain without anything between them. “Dain, you don’t want to do this.” He spoke measuredly, his eyes never leaving Dain’s face. At the end of the table, Lance had half risen, his own hand moving to his sword. 

“You are no longer fit to rule Drassa.” Now that Dain was closer, Merlin could see him shaking slightly, though his gaze was unerring.

“This is neither the time nor the place,” Arthur said, his arms folded across his chest. He raised an eyebrow at Dain, who did not respond. “Very well,” he continued. “What is your cause to challenge me?”

“Arthur-” Lance began, standing up, but was halted by Arthur’s raised hand.

Carefully, Arthur looked around the hall, meeting the eyes of those watching the confrontation, whose expressions ranged from nervous to entertained. “Anyone within the clan has the right to challenge the chieftain,” Arthur declared, his voice loud and clear. “I serve you all as best as I can, as is my duty and my birth right. But we know as well as any clan that those chosen to rule can fall foul to the same vices as any other.” He paused. “Pride. Greed. So it is that anyone with a valid complaint may call for a challenge and have it heard without fear of retribution. Therefore, if anyone here wishes to stand alongside Dain, they should do so.”

Merlin waited, breath caught in his throat, but nobody moved. Dain did not look behind him to see if anyone had made a move to support him, keeping his eyes locked on Arthur’s face. At the doorway, Percival and a few other men had appeared from the yard, watching the scene quietly.

“Dain,” Arthur prompted. “Your complaint?”

“You are not fit to rule Drassa,” Dain repeated, his voice a low hiss. Merlin was shocked by the twisted anger in his face; he had seen Dain talk and fight, had bested him his first time in the training yard, and although he had never been friendly, the ugly rage spewing from him was not something Merlin had seen before. “If it weren’t for you, those that died would still be alive.”

It seemed Percival’s hope that Bertrand’s death would lessen the threat Dain posed had been overly optimistic. 

Arthur frowned. “Their deaths were a blow to us all, but they died naturally, from a fever.”

Dain glanced behind Arthur’s shoulder, where Tristam stood as Lance did, ready but unmoving. “Perhaps you should not have brought Isolde back from exile. That has always been the way before. Those who are banished do not return.”

Merlin could see the tension in every line of Tristam’s body, but he did not respond. 

“Isolde was never exiled,” Arthur argued. “I sent her to stay with her aunt, which may have been wrong of me, but Drassa has always remained her home.” 

“The fever probably came with them,” Dain pressed on. 

“That is a possibility,” Arthur admitted, and Merlin raised his eyebrows in surprise. The thought had not occurred to him, especially as none of Isolde’s people had fallen ill as far as he was aware. “But it is still nobody’s fault.”

Dain was shaking his head. “You are not strong enough to protect Drassa and our people if you believe that. Isolde should be banished.”

At this, Tristam took a small step forward almost involuntarily, his usually calm face cloudy. Lance had slowly edged closer to Arthur round the front of the table, and Merlin followed, standing up and making his way towards Arthur and Lance. Dain paid them no attention, concentrating on Arthur, and his successful goading of Tristam. 

“Dain,” Arthur said warningly. “You have no support here. ’Tis best you go cool your head. We can resolve this another time.” 

But Dain had seen Tristam’s reaction and was caught up in the moment. “I don’t know why you all go to such lengths to defend her. She was probably whoring herself out while she was away – unless that was the reason you banished her.” He grinned, and Merlin felt himself recoil from the wolfish pleasure on Dain’s face. “At least you’ve come to your senses and brought her back. Now we can all make good use of her.” Dain glanced either side of him, but met no approval for his words from anyone gathered there. Merlin remembered the general support for Tristam and Isolde; they were well liked here, and Dain was making himself more of an outcast with every word he spoke, though Merlin did not know whether he had the awareness to realise it. 

One of the men behind Tristam had put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Arthur leaned forward into Dain’s face, his hand dropping to his sword. “I would remind you that Isolde is my cousin,” he snarled. “ _Leave_ , Dain.” 

“You’re a fool,” Dain spat, “ruled by your prick.” His eyes darted to Merlin briefly and Merlin shivered, unsettled. “And you,” he pointed his chin towards Tristam, “you cannot even defend your own betrothed.”

Lance stepped forward. “We will, Dain, unless you leave now.”

Dain stepped back, spreading his hands wide. He laughed coldly. “A weak-willed lover and a scarred cripple? That’s no way to defend the clan.”

“And us,” Percival growled from behind him. The men alongside him flanked out, blocking Dain’s way out of the hall. Among them were a couple of older men who Merlin knew had been passingly friendly with Dain, but his outburst seemed to have lost their sympathy and they stared at him with set faces. 

“What are you going to do, kill me?” 

“You’ve brought this on yourself,” Lance called. “You have no claim, Dain. You’re just angry.” 

“Angry that I’m led by a fool and his band of misfits,” Dain spat back quickly. 

Arthur raised a hand to Lance. “I won’t kill you. But I will banish you. I cannot have men I cannot trust in my guard.” 

“And I cannot serve such a weak-willed leader.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Merlin muttered, and Lance glanced at him in surprise. “He’s being ridiculous.”

Dain’s eyes snapped over to them. “What are you saying, _Merlin_?” he asked. “And that’s another thing – why is this stranger here among us, eating and working and doing who knows what alongside our chieftain?”

No one responded, apart from looking over at Merlin. He was thankful that no one else seemed to echo Dain’s sentiments, or at least if they did he had distanced them all too much with his behaviour to garner any support. 

“I said you’re being ridiculous,” Merlin told him, growing frustrated with Dain’s tirade. He clearly had no real complaint to broach and instead was just stood, surrounded on all sides, throwing out cheap insults. “You’re calling Arthur weak because he refuses to kill you. Would you rather he did?”

Dain narrowed his eyes. “You know nothing.”

“Jon Snow,” Merlin chuckled, and Lance gave him an even stranger look. “I know that you’re making everything worse for yourself.”

“Merlin,” Arthur cautioned, his forehead creasing. “Leave it.”

“Yes,” Dain taunted, “do as he says.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You should have left when Arthur told you to.”

“No, _you_ should leave. Run out with your tails between your legs, all of you.”

“Nobody’s running,” Percival pointed out.

Unable to help himself, Merlin laughed again, and this time Lance joined him, his shoulders relaxing. Even Tristam, when Merlin looked across at him, had a smile toying at the edges of his mouth. Arthur was still stood braced between Lance and Tristam, watching Dain carefully. 

“Take the monster and the fool with you,” Dain railed, and Lance tensed up again at Merlin’s side. “And that strange creature.” He waved a hand at Merlin. “At least then he can keep warming your bed while everyone pretends he’s not a freak who can’t even hold a sword.”

Arthur didn’t respond except for a slight shake of his head towards Percival. Lance was scowling again, but unmoving. 

“Fuck this,” Merlin said, and strode forward past Arthur, drawing back his arm and punching Dain right across his surprised face.

•

“It _hurts_.”

“Well, if you will go around hitting people.”

Merlin scowled at Arthur, who was pacing next to the table where Merlin sat, Cedric tending his hand. Dain had been too surprised to react after Merlin punched him, and Percival had caught Dain’s hands behind his back and led him out of the hall to the dungeon. Merlin hadn’t realised there even was a dungeon, although in retrospect he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Several men had gone down there to guard him, including Percival, and an eager Lance. 

“I know I shouldn’t have,” Merlin sighed. “But weren’t you getting annoyed by him? What were we meant to do? Just let him insult everyone forever?”

Arthur snorted. “I don’t blame you, although please let me know before you inflict injury on any other member of my clan.”

Merlin grinned. “Will do.”

Tristam approached. “Arthur, Dain is secure. He’s shouting for Merlin’s head, but all the men are ignoring him.” He smiled quickly at Merlin. “I suppose I should thank you for defending our honour.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t punch him, after what he said about Isolde.”

Tristam frowned. “I was sorely tempted.” He glanced towards the doorway wistfully. 

Arthur sighed. “Well, it’s done now. And I’m glad you didn’t, Tristam. Everyone knows that Merlin’s a fool, I’d rather they not think the same of you.”

“Unfair,” Merlin muttered as Cedric rubbed a pungent paste into his red knuckles. However, when he looked up, Arthur smiled at him, his eyes glinting playfully. 

“Perhaps Merlin is a lost cause,” Tristam drawled. “We should train him up. If he will punch everyone, he could at least do it without doing almost as much damage to himself.”

Merlin laughed. “I’ll work on it.”

Tristam nodded his goodbyes and walked away. 

“He was being a complete bastard,” Merlin justified, looking up at Arthur. “He was dreadful about Isolde, and you, and he called Lance a monster.”

Arthur nodded. “I didn’t think he had that vitriol within him. Losing Bertrand must have been more of a blow than I realised.”

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin said quickly. “You weren’t to know. And anyway, no real harm done. Well, only to my poor hand.”

“No doubt Dain’s eye will be a rather magnificent shade of purple by morning, too.” 

After a pause, Merlin asked, “What are you going to do about him?”

Arthur glanced at Cedric, who had finished tending to Merlin’s hand and stood up, bidding them both farewell and walking out of the hall. Arthur sat down in the seat he had abandoned. “I am unsure,” he admitted. “If he had come forward with a genuine complaint, there would be something I could do to resolve his anger. Perhaps he had planned to lead a band against me. It was what I feared, why I moved him onto guard duty, although I fear that only enraged him further. I seem to be making many bad judgements of late.” He smiled weakly at Merlin, his eyes tired.

“You had to do something. Leaving him to plot against you…” Merlin trailed off, aware that Arthur would make the same connections as he had. 

“I cannot leave him in the dungeon forever.”

Merlin paused, uncertain how what he was about to suggest would be received. “He should be banished.”

Arthur looked up at him. “Banishment?”

“You know he can’t stay here, not without causing more trouble in the future. You can’t spend the whole time looking over your shoulder for the next time he decides to rail against you and uses a sword instead of his words.”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s not that simple, Merlin. Banishing him would send a message to the clan that I will cast out those opposed to me, and I cannot countenance that.”

Merlin put his hand over Arthur’s on the table. “No – you said it yourself. If Dain – if anyone – had a real complaint, you would hear it. But Dain is just a threat. The clan will see that it is the only thing that can be done.” He squeezed Arthur’s fingers. “It does not make you like your father.”

Arthur looked away. “It’s not-”

“He banished children, Arthur. Innocents. Speak to the others,” Merlin urged.

Intertwining his fingers with Merlin’s on the table, Arthur nodded. “Very well. I will consult with Lance and Percival. Isolde too, in Gavin’s stead, and Tristam. I shall hear what they have to say. You will come with me, of course.”

Merlin smiled, but shook his head. “No, I don’t think I should.”

“Are you certain? I know Lance and Percival value your opinion.”

“I know. And you know my thoughts on this. I think I’ve already done enough, punching him like that.”

“Very well.” Arthur frowned. “You know you are not merely still here to warm my bed?” he asked, referring to Dain’s comment. “Especially since, as far as I recall, it has been disappointingly cold of late.”

Merlin laughed. “No, I know that.” He broke eye contact, looking down at their hands. “What will the clan think?” 

Arthur glanced across the hall, where several people still remained, talking about the morning’s scene in groups and clearing away the remainders of breakfast. “I would have you with me, Merlin,” he said at length, his earnest gaze meeting Merlin’s. “If you would be there.”

“I-” Merlin stopped, a lump in his throat. He took Arthur’s hand where it lay on the table, hoping that was enough to convey what he meant. He knew now he would be there as long as he was allowed, although after Arthur knew the truth, he doubted he would still be welcome.

•

That night, as Merlin sat on his bed, his boots slipped off and scarf loosened, there was a knock at the door. Sighing, he stood up, wincing as he caught his sore knuckles on the rough wood of the door as he pulled it open. 

Arthur stood there, his face smudged with tiredness and hair in unruly tufts. He smiled at Merlin. “Dain has been banished,” he said without preamble, resting one hand on the doorframe by merlin’s head. “He will leave at sunrise.”

Merlin nodded. “The others didn’t disagree?”

“No, he proved himself too volatile to keep any support. Some may still have complaints against me but not sufficient to align themselves with him.”

Merlin remembered Lance’s comment about who had given him his scar. “Is his father still alive?”

If Arthur was surprised Merlin had guessed Dain’s father had been one of those banished fifteen years before, he didn’t show it. “No, I believe he died some years ago.”

“Where will he go?”

Arthur shrugged. “Perhaps to Llanduy, if they will take him in. Or further away, somewhere completely new.” He paused, tapping the frame with his fingers, looking down at the straw under their feet.

“Was there something else?” Merlin asked.

Arthur met his eyes. “Come with me?”

Merlin knew that his closeness with Arthur was becoming increasingly dangerous for them both. There was only so much longer he could go without telling him the truth, and until then it would probably be better to put some distance between them. However, when Arthur asked, face weary in the low light and eyes honest, it seemed the simplest decision in the world to nod and follow him.

The corridors of the castle were quiet, and they stayed silent as they walked. Merlin hadn’t stopped to put his boots on, and the stone of the stairs was cool under his socked feet. Soon they had wound their way to Arthur’s chamber. Inside, Merlin walked over to the lit fire as Arthur latched the door behind them. The room looked the same as the last time he had been there, although the papers on the desk were neat and set aside, rather than spread everywhere. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said lowly as he approached him.

Merlin turned around, face flushed warm from the fire, his hands knotted in front of him. They stood there in the stillness, a yard of space between them, and Merlin felt and heard his breath hitch. He wondered if this was what they were always to be: silent stares in quiet rooms, the light of Arthur’s hair and eyes reeling him in. Perhaps this was all he was to ever get, and maybe that was for the good, as he was unsure how anyone was supposed to survive anything more when even the air in between their bodies felt dense and likely to suffocate him at any moment. 

“If I-” Arthur started to say, but Merlin stepped forward and kissed him, pressing the words away with his mouth. Arthur made a noise low in his throat and pulled Merlin flush against him, as one of Merlin’s hands rose to cup Arthur’s jaw. 

After a minute, Arthur leaned back. “We could at least sit down this time,” he smiled. 

Merlin chuckled, his cheeks red and breath coming quickly. Arthur tugged him to the bed and pulled him down upon the heavy covers. The wine-red curtains were loose and hanging down on the opposite side, leaving them in a cocoon of fabric lit by the flickering fire behind them. Merlin was sprawled over Arthur, their legs tangled together. Arthur lifted a hand and toyed with the hair curling behind Merlin’s ear, before tugging at his earlobe playfully, his face wide with a grin. He pulled Merlin down into another kiss and Merlin relaxed, losing himself in the warmth. The feel of Arthur beneath him, the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of him, was heady and before long Merlin found himself drunk on it, smiling sloppily into each kiss.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur urged as he slipped a hand under Merlin’s tunic onto his bare back. The touch was a burning brand on Merlin’s already hot skin. Without warning, Arthur pushed Merlin over so that their positions were reversed, lying between Merlin’s legs and taking his mouth with a barely tempered ferocity. 

As Merlin arched up beneath him, he felt something hard hit his leg and drew back. “Arthur, have you still got your boots on?” 

Arthur glanced down and sighed woefully. He looked so upset and having to break off that Merlin laughed, and Arthur grinned at him as he yanked off the offending shoes. Pausing, he pushed himself up until he was knelt on the bed and stripped off his tunic, leaving him bare to the waist. 

Merlin’s laugh died in his throat and he held his arms wide for Arthur’s return. 

“Should get this off too,” Arthur muttered, breaking himself off by pressing his tongue to Merlin’s neck and nipping under his jaw. His hands tugged at Merlin’s tunic, pushing it up his back as far as possible without breaking off. 

Merlin bent his knees to cradle Arthur between his hips, hands running reverently over Arthur’s chest. He was disappointed that he had never seen Arthur shirtless before, although he supposed that the reaction the sight inspired in him would hardly have been appropriate in the training yard. “If you’d let me _up_.”

Arthur chuckled against his collar bone, tugging the collar of Merlin’s tunic wide so he could access the skin there. “You want me to stop?” he teased with a roll of his hips.

Merlin groaned. “No, I-” he broke off, suddenly aware of how closely they were pressed, how much of Arthur was above him, how near this was to becoming something else. Something he hadn’t really let him think about before, but now wanted desperately. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asked from somewhere near his stomach. 

“Just- stop.” Arthur withdrew, frowning. Unable to meet his eyes, Merlin sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and resting his face in his hands. “ _Fuck_.”

“Merlin, what is it?” Arthur pushed. He sounded affronted. “Look, I thought you wanted-”

“Don’t be a prat,” Merlin interrupted, glancing at him sideways. “Of course I wanted.” He sighed heavily. 

Arthur reached out a hand, resting it on Merlin’s thigh. Merlin dropped his own hand to tangle his fingers between Arthur’s, squeezing them tightly. “What is going on, then?”

“It’s me – I’ve been lying to you,” Merlin said, looking down at their hands. 

Arthur snorted. “Well, of course you have. I’m not a fool, Merlin. You’re clearly hiding something about where you come from. I just was not too concerned about that right now…”

“You would be, if you knew.”

Arthur sighed, sliding closer. “Have you killed someone?” he asked plainly.

Startled, Merlin looked up. “No!”

“Seduced someone then? Been banished? You’re obviously from quite far away.” He paused. “Look, you can tell me now if you must, but I doubt it will make me unwilling, if that is your concern. I know you well enough by now, I want you here, and we’ve finally got a bed and a night to ourselves, so I was rather hoping to make the most of it.”

Unable to help himself, Merlin chuckled. “Oh, Arthur.” He shook his head. “No, I- I have to tell you. It’s time.” 

Arthur spread his free hand. “I await.”

“It’s- actually, I think Lance and Percival should be here too.” Arthur groaned. Merlin ignored him, convinced it was the right way to do it. “Yes, it’s only fair… And I’ve got to fetch something. Can you get them, and I’ll meet you back here?”

“Here?”

Merlin nodded. “It’s got to be private.”

“This was not exactly how I envisaged my evening,” Arthur scowled, although he stood up, dropping Merlin’s hand and tugging his tunic back on. “Right.” He looked sadly at Merlin, and reached over to tuck his hair behind his ear. “Do not fear, Merlin. Nothing you can say will change this.” He darted forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Merlin’s mouth before withdrawing, pulling his boots on and leaving the room.

•

By the time he made his way back to Arthur’s chamber, book in hand, Merlin’s stomach had become a pit of worry. It seemed ridiculous to ask the three of them to believe him, when he knew he would not believe himself in their position, but he saw no other choice available to him. Whatever the outcome, the truth needed to come out. 

He pushed open the door slowly, poking his head round the side and sighing with a mixture of relief and disappointment at the sight of Arthur, Lance and Percival gathered by the fire. Lance was frowning, his hair tangled and clothes untidy as though they had been hastily pulled on. Arthur was speaking to them in a low voice, but broke off as Merlin entered. 

“Arthur said you need to speak to us,” Percival said as Merlin shut the door behind him. 

He nodded. “Yeah… this might take a while.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Great, not only are we dragged from our beds-”

“Oh, be quiet, Lance,” Arthur interrupted. “’Tis hardly the worst thing I’ve ever asked of you.”

“I’m not certain how that is supposed to improve my disposition,” Lance grumbled. 

Merlin stepped forward, the book pressed close to his side. “Arthur, I’ve got this. Shall we sit down?”

Arthur took a seat on the chair by his table, while Percival settled down on a stool by the fireplace. Lance remained staining, leaning against the wide mantelpiece, and Merlin decided not to argue about it. Setting the book behind him, Merlin perched at the end of the bed facing Arthur. 

Percival looked worried. “Is this about a threat to the castle?”

Quickly, Merlin shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I know it’s not the best time, but I need to tell you about me. About where I’m from, I mean.”

“Cryptic,” Lance snorted, although when Merlin looked up at him, his face had softened slightly. 

Percival and Arthur were watching Merlin carefully, waiting for him to speak. Taking a deep breath, he began. “I’m not exactly from around here.” He paused, but none of them said anything. “My… I was kind of sent here, by someone I know. I think I have a- a kind of mission to do.”

“Where are you from, then?” Percival asked. Merlin was sure he’d heard Arthur scoff when he mentioned having a mission, but he ignored it. 

Merlin ducked his head, eyes on his feet. “This is going to sound… ridiculous.” He looked back up at them earnestly. “But please, just hear me out. I promise I’m being serious. I’m from the future. As in, a long time in the future. I don’t know how far, exactly, because I’m not actually sure what year it is _now_.”

Lance and Percival were still, but Arthur leant forward, concern etched across his face in the firelight. “Merlin, you’re ill. Let me fetch Cedric to see you, it might be the fever.” 

Merlin shook his head forcefully. “No. I know how it sounds, but it’s true. When you found me on the hill-” he nodded at Lance and Percival, “-I had just arrived. I didn’t walk here, I just appeared, then you two were there and you brought me down to the castle.”

“Please, Merlin-”

Lance interrupted whatever Arthur was about to say. “So, when you said you didn’t know where you were…”

“Exactly, I had no idea. At all.”

“And he didn’t know who you were, did he?” Lance asked Arthur, turning to him with raised eyebrows. 

Arthur shook his head. “No, but you’re not saying you _believe_ him, are you? Merlin, I’m sorry, but you must be sick. You’re not from the future. Perhaps you hit your head, before Lance and Percival found you.” He sounded happy to have come up with a plausible suggestion.

“I didn’t,” Merlin said slowly. “Remember- my clothes.” He looked around at them all desperately. “My clothes are all modern – I should have brought them down with me. And I can’t use a sword, and Arthur – you asked if I could read, and I told you that I could, but I can’t read any of the languages your books are in.”

Arthur looked away. 

Merlin turned to Percival. “Do you believe me?”

“I’m uncertain,” Percival replied slowly. “This is… beyond imagining. However, I must admit there are certain things about you which have always struck me as strange,” he added with a smile. 

Merlin grinned back at him. “Thanks. Lance?”

“Ever since you spoke to me about Arthur’s father,” he said, with a quick glance at Arthur, who was watching them all with an appalled expression on his face, “I have wondered how you knew of it all. Few in Drassa will ever speak of what happened, let alone to a stranger. I supposed someone must have, but if there was some other way you knew…”

“Yes, exactly!” Merlin jumped excitedly. “Nobody told me, I read it.”

“You _read it_?” Arthur asked coldly, his eyes steely when Merlin met their gaze. “Unless I misheard, you just admitted to us all that you cannot read the books in my study? Besides, none there bear the story of my father or the Llanduy attack. That part of our history is unwritten.”

Merlin swallowed. The harshness of Arthur’s voice was a stark contrast to how they had been only an hour earlier. “The book is from my time,” he told him simply. “It was written long after your father was chieftain. After you, too.”

“This is preposterous,” Arthur replied, turning his head up to the ceiling. 

Percival gestured to where the book sat behind Merlin on the bed. “That is the book you refer to?”

Merlin picked it up and clasped it tightly in his lap. “Yes.”

“Where is it you are from, then?” Arthur asked, still gazing at the ceiling. “In the _future_?”

“Uh, near here, I think – Caerwent.”

Arthur’s head snapped down and he stared at Merlin. “Caerwent? That’s the seat of the Kingdom of Gwent.”

As Arthur said it, Merlin vaguely remembered hearing the same thing on a historical tour he had taken in his first year, and cursed himself for not thinking before that Caerwent might exist in this time. “Yes – but it’s different now. Well, I expect so. I mean, we have cars and the university and-” He broke off at their blank stares. Clearly, the magical translation Gaius had told him about didn’t stretch to concepts that didn’t exist in the past. 

“You have to admit,” Percival said slowly, speaking to Arthur but keeping his eyes on Merlin. “There is something in it. What are cars?”

“I’ll tell you!” Merlin replied quickly. “I’ll tell you- if you believe me. Oh wait, except maybe you shouldn’t tell anyone else. Otherwise you’ll invent cars, and tell everyone that the earth goes round the sun, and try and kill Hitler’s great-great-great-grandfather or something, and I’ll have damaged history forever, and then we’ll be in a whole world of paradoxes. Trust me, I had an argument about _Interstellar_ for half an hour with my friend Gwaine.” The three of them were still looking utterly perplexed, and Lance had raised his eyebrows. Merlin, however, found a strange sense of surreal relief in talking to them nonsensically about the future. It also made him feel something twisted and sad that they had no idea what he was on about, and would never have any idea – would be dust under the soil long before almost everything he knew was even dreamt of. 

After a long pause, Arthur sighed. “Let me see the book, then.”

Merlin started to hand it over to him, but paused. “Are you sure? It might be weird.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Weirder than this?”

Merlin passed him the book, thinking that he had a point. “Chapter nine.”

However, immediately after Arthur flicked it open, he frowned. “I can’t read this.”

“Oh, I’m an idiot,” Merlin groaned. “Of course. If I can’t read your books… This is in Modern English. Well, that’s what we call it, anyway.” Arthur flicked through the rest of the book, frowning. He passed it over to Lance, who scanned the pages with an equally bemused expression.

Once Percival had had a cursory look, Lance passed the book back to Merlin. “What does it say then?”

Merlin swallowed. “Well, it has the story of the attack by Llanduy.” He turned to the chapter, although he hardly needed to read it to know what it said. “Fifteen years ago, right? Then it says about the council, and how you returned, Arthur.”

“What of my rule?” Arthur asked with a tight voice. “You said it continues past my death; what does it say?”

Merlin was unsure whether he should really tell them, but since he had already promised Percival an explanation of cars, and in that moment he cared rather about the closed expression on Arthur’s face than the laws of time travel, he decided to go for it. “It says that you’re a just and wise man. And beautiful,” he added with a grin. He found the next section in the book. “ _His rule marked a return to the peace Drassa had enjoyed before the time of his father, and greater prosperity than had been achieved by the council in the years since the battle against Llanduy. A bande of loyale warriors served at his side, along with his greatest companion, a man of learning and reason who ruled along with him for the whole of his reign_.”

By the time he finished and looked up, his own throat was tight. Arthur was gazing at him steadily, a terrifying combination of hope and sadness warring on his face. “And this- it’s real?”

Merlin sighed. “I can’t prove it to you, not unless… Well, I can’t prove it to you here.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, but your word?”

“I promise you.”

Arthur dropped his head, pressing his fingers into his eyes. Merlin was overcome with the need to cross the floor to him, and then, remembering that it was only Lance and Percival in the room with them, did so. He knelt by Arthur’s chair, the book on the floor at his side, and Arthur’s hand came up to wrap around Merlin’s neck, drawing him into his shoulder as he kept his head down.

“Is there any more?” Lance asked.

Merlin drew his head back from Arthur’s shoulder and looked over at him. Lance’s face was still creased with tension. “Not really,” Merlin admitted. “Nothing until… until Drassa’s long gone.”

Lance nodded, not seeming distressed by the idea. 

Merlin was wondering whether to mention his suspicions about Lance being the companion mentioned in the _Historie_ when Arthur raised his head. “That is all? Nothing else happens to the clan?”

“No, well nothing the author knew about.” 

Arthur nodded, his eyes bright. “Read the last bit again.”

Frowning, Merlin turned to the book. “Umm… _A bande of loyale warriors served at his side, along with his greatest companion, a man of learning and reason who ruled along with him for the whole of his reign_.”

Arthur was looking at him with such intensity that Merlin half forgot Lance and Percival by the fire. “Yes I- I believe you,” Arthur told him, his voice steady, and before Merlin could offer a reply he leant forward and kissed him forcefully. 

When he drew back, Merlin turned to the others with a red face. Percival grinned. “Well.” 

“Wait, are you going back to the future, then?” Lance asked, his words pouring a bucket of cold water over Merlin’s head. 

Not meeting Arthur’s eye, Merlin recounted the conversation he had had with Gaius on his brief return to Caerwent. “So I’m not sure how, exactly, or when,” he finished, chewing his lip nervously. 

“It will be alright,” Arthur said steadily, looking unconcerned. “If this book is to be trusted – it will all work out.” 

Percival was nodding slowly. “Yes – I thought the same.”

Merlin frowned, feeling like he was missing something. “What is it?”

However, before anyone could answer him, he felt a dreadfully familiar tugging in his gut and the room began to spin, the book in one hand, Arthur’s fingers still resting on the back of his neck.


	11. Chapter 11

_You must be coming close to whatever you are meant to do in Drassa, after which you will have the choice to return home or stay there forever._

Gaius’s words, which Merlin had just relayed to Arthur, Lance and Percival, hummed around his brain as he opened his eyes. Although he was not surprised to see the pale grey walls of his Caerwent student bedroom, he still felt thrown by having materialised there mere moments after sitting in Arthur’s chamber in Drassa.

“Not used to this time travel malarkey yet,” he muttered as he sat up on the floor, rubbing the back of his head. He set the book which he had accidentally carried with him on the end of his bed. 

At his words, he heard a low groan behind him and span around quickly to see Arthur blinking at him groggily. Behind him, Lance and Percival were sprawled, Percival slowly sitting up and gazing around. Between the four of them, Merlin’s bedroom floor was pretty cramped.

He scrambled to his feet and stared at them with wide eyes. “Er- you’re here.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Excellently observed. Where exactly is _here_?” He was studying Merlin’s room with an intrigued expression. 

“I’m not quite sure how you’re all with me,” Merlin started, as Percival rolled his neck and pushed himself to his feet. “But something must have caused us to come to the future. Uh – this is the future. My future.” He waved his hands around him. “This is my room.”

From his position on Merlin’s thin carpet, Lance shut his eyes and groaned melodramatically. “The future. I’m in the future.” 

It was daytime, sunlight making its way through Merlin’s thin curtains and lighting up the room. Merlin stood uncertainly for a minute, as Percival and Arthur continued peering at his room, Arthur standing up and wandering over to the mantelpiece over Merlin’s empty fireplace where his Chewbacca figurine stood at the door of the TARDIS. Uncertain how he could even begin to explain that, Merlin decided not to try. Lance, meanwhile, was still on the floor, propped up against the wall, with his eyes screwed shut as though he could wish himself back to Drassa if he tried hard enough. 

Percival turned from giving Merlin’s laptop an unimpressed stare and nudged Lance with his boot. “Get up, Lance.”

“I believed it,” Lance answered, eyes still shut. “But I’m actually – we’re actually here. In the future.” He peeked an eyelid open and looked at Merlin. “And that is not a nice way to travel. Faster than a horse, perhaps, but I fear my supper is threatening to make a reappearance.”

“You will be fine,” Arthur answered dismissively, Chewbacca in hand. Merlin admired the bizarre picture he painted, in tunic and leggings, clutching a plastic figurine, his hair still rumpled by Merlin’s hands. 

Just as Merlin was wondering what to do with them, there was a tap at his bedroom door. “Merlin?” Gwen’s voice called. “Is that you?”

“Er- yes,” he replied. “Don’t come in!”

“You’re still here then?”

Percival and Arthur were looking between the door and Merlin with bemused expressions, as Lance finally reopened his eyes, still sat on the floor. 

“Yes, I-” Merlin broke off. “Gwen, if I open the door, promise not to shout?” 

She laughed. “What, are you naked? Is this like the time when you were in the shower and I-”

Merlin hurried over to the door to break her off, ignoring Arthur’s intrigued glance. He opened the door just wide enough to stick his face out. Gwen was stood there in a fluffy dressing gown with a mug of tea in her hand. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, frowning. She tried to look past him. “Is there someone in there?” 

He shook his head, then paused. “No, well yes, but not what you think. Gwen, what day is it?”

“What _day_ -” she stopped, her eyes widening. “Did it happen again?” she asked in a hushed voice. 

Merlin nodded. “You’d better come in, so Gwaine doesn’t hear. But don’t freak out, okay?”

“Sure,” she replied as he opened the door fully. “But you’re going to have to tell him sometime, you know, if this is going to keep…” She trailed off as Merlin stepped back and the other occupants of the room became visible. “Right.” 

Hastily, Merlin shut the door behind her. “So, this is weird,” he said. 

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. “Um, hello.”

Percival stepped forward and bowed his head, hand on his belt where his sword usually rested. “Good day, my name is Percival. Are you a friend of Merlin?”

“Yes,” she answered, frowning. “Merlin mentioned you.” She turned to Merlin. “Shit, I believed you before, you know, but this is just…” 

Arthur snorted. “Think how it is for us,” he chipped in. “Merlin only told us about… all of this… tonight. Well, it _was_ night.” 

“Oh yeah, what time is it?” Merlin asked Gwen. 

She pulled her phone out of her dressing gown pocket and checked. “It’s eleven. How long has it been for you?” 

“A couple of weeks.”

Arthur was frowning, still holding the plastic Chewbacca. “Am I right in thinking that two weeks have not passed here since your last visit?”

“Ah, I forgot to tell you about that,” Merlin said apologetically. “Yeah, it’s only been a few hours.” 

Head in his hands, Lance groaned, the first sound he had made since Gwen’s entry. “This is too strange.”

Arthur looked at Merlin intently. “And in Drassa? How much time will pass?”

“Nothing, I don’t think – at least it didn’t last time. Minutes, a couple of hours at most.” Arthur nodded. “This is Arthur,” Merlin told Gwen quickly as she gazed around the room, eyes wide. “And that’s Lance.”

As he was introduced, Lance looked over at Gwen and smiled, a disarming toothy grin at odds with his previous complaining. He stood up, brushing off his leggings and stepped towards her. “Lovely,” he said. Gwen blushed prettily and behind Lance’s shoulder, Percival rolled his eyes. 

“This is pleasant,” Arthur chimed in from where he still stood next to the mantelpiece, breaking Lance and Gwen’s eye contact. “But what are we going to do?” 

“Well, I have no idea how or when we’ll get back,” Merlin admitted. “Perhaps I should go to see Gaius, although I doubt he’ll be much help.”

“So we are to spend time in your house?” Percival asked. He was smiling amiably, easily the happiest to be there out of the group. “This could be very interesting. You can tell me all about those cars you mentioned.”

Gwen arched an eyebrow at Merlin, but he ignored it. “Sure, but our other housemate, Gwaine – he doesn’t know.” 

“We should really tell him,” Gwen urged. “He’ll think it’s all a practical joke, but this lot are weird enough that we might be able to convince him.” Arthur looked affronted at her comment, but Lance was grinning, amused. 

Slowly, Merlin nodded. “You’re right. We should do this properly.”

“Although-” Gwen waved her hand around the room, “-you’re going to need different clothes.”

•

Fifteen minutes later, they were dressed in a selection of Merlin’s clothes, his T-shirts straining across broader shoulders than his own. Arthur was frowning at his jeans, and kept readjusting them, complaining about the unyielding material. 

Gwen, who had stepped out to let them all get changed, popped her head back in, also now dressed. “Great,” she said at the sight of them. “Gwaine’s gone downstairs to get some food.” 

Merlin swallowed. “Okay, let’s do this.” 

The five of them made their way downstairs, Gwen leading the way. Lance, Percival and Arthur were looking at everything curiously, and Merlin could only be thankful that they hadn’t materialised next to a road, or in front of a TV. At least his room and hallway probably just appeared to be peculiar versions of their own world, rather than witchcraft.

In the kitchen, Gwaine was cooking eggs with his back to them. As they singled in, Lance’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Sorry,” he hissed when Arthur scowled at him. “I’m hungry.”

At the sound of their voices, Gwaine spun around, spatula in hand. “Who the fuck’s this? Gwen, did you bring _three_ guys back yesterday?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously not, I came home at the same time as you, you idiot, even if you don’t remember it. These are Merlin’s friends.”

“Oh,” Gwaine nodded, giving his eggs an idle stir. “Hey.” 

“Let’s sit down,” Merlin suggested quickly, tugging Arthur’s elbow and shoving him towards a kitchen chair. Percival and Lance followed suit. Lance started playing with a table mat. Gwen and Merlin remained standing, leaving the remaining chair for Gwaine, who sat down a minute later once his food was done, throwing the two of them a strange look. 

“So… hi,” Gwaine said. “I’m Gwaine.” 

Percival smiled. “My name is Percival, this is Lance, and this is our ch- Arthur.” Merlin let out a sigh of relief at Percival’s quick save. He didn’t want to scare Gwaine off yet. 

The six of them remained in silence for a few minutes, Gwaine steadily eating his breakfast. Gwen was casting fierce glances at Merlin, but he simply responded with an expression he hoped accurately conveyed the reluctance to tell one of his best friends he was a time traveller and the men sat opposite him were medieval warriors. He wasn’t quite sure he managed, but Gwen seemed to get the idea.

Gwaine finished his eggs with a loud sigh and pushed his plate away. “You lot look older than Merlin, where’d you meet then? You all mature students or something?”

Arthur looked over at Merlin expectantly. 

“Uh…”

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” Gwen sounded exasperated. “Look, if none of you are going to say anything… Gwaine, this might take a while – and don’t faint, alright?” 

Quickly, between them, Merlin and Gwen explained what was happening. Lance and Percival chipped in occasionally. Arthur, however, was silent; his forehead was creased as he watched them all.

By the time they finished, Gwaine looked pained, propping his head up with one hand. “I’m massively hungover, and then you’ve got to go spring time travel on me?”

That started a laugh from Merlin. “Look, I didn’t exactly choose it either. So you believe us?”

Gwaine shrugged. “I mean, it’s mental. And the whole time thing is messing with my head – what, this all happened since yesterday afternoon? But it’s really been weeks?” He sighed. “But these three definitely have something odd about them. You’ve been staring at my fork for ages.” This he addressed to Lance, who had been examining Gwaine’s fork with a puzzled expression. “So either you’re actually from the past, or you’re on a lot of drugs.”

•

“I still don’t understand why the book brought us here now,” Merlin was saying, walking along the pavement with his hands deep in the pockets of his raincoat. “I mean, I just told you about it, but surely _that_ can’t be my magical mission.” 

Arthur made a low hum of acknowledgement, his eyes darting from the lampposts to the cars to the pair of Gwaine’s trainers he was wearing. The two of them were on their way to campus in an attempt to find Gaius. After talking to Gwaine, the group had gone outside Merlin’s house so that Merlin could explain cars to Percival. Lance had been thrilled by the traffic, but Percival and Arthur had become a little uneasy at the noise and speed. 

When Merlin announced that he wanted to track down Gaius, Gwen had offered that the others could stay at home with her, so Merlin wasn’t walking through town with three shocked medieval men, especially after Percival had squatted down to run his hands over the tarmac. Lance had easily agreed, smiling broadly at Gwen. Arthur, however, had wanted to meet Gaius – an intention he had announced with a fierce scowl that made Merlin a little nervous for his lecturer. 

The rain had eased off, but the sky was a metallic grey and the air felt damp. They were walking the whole way, Merlin having decided that taking the bus might be one step too far.

“And I have no idea when we’ll return to Drassa. I suppose, if Gaius was right, this is my chance to decide where to go.” Merlin darted a nervous look at Arthur. “Not sure how I’m meant to do that without knowing what my mission was though. I mean I thought-”

“Will you stay?” Arthur interrupted, not looking at Merlin. 

Merlin was saved from answering for a moment as he had to press himself into a soggy hedge to make way for an oncoming double pushchair. “I haven’t decided,” Merlin admitted quietly, once they were walking next to each other again. 

“I-” Arthur broke himself off, shaking his head. 

“What?”

“’Tis not my place.” He smiled at Merlin tightly. “’Tis your decision.” 

Merlin reached a hand out of his pocket and clutched Arthur’s forearm. “I know this has got to be super weird for you, look, I’m sorry – I don’t know why you’ve all come here with me.” 

Arthur shrugged. “No it’s… Yes, it is very strange,” he chuckled. “But it is interesting, seeing you in your own time.” He looked away. “In your own world.” 

Merlin squeezed Arthur’s arm. “Come on, we’re nearly there.” He pulled Arthur’s hand out of his pocket and intertwined their fingers, smiling at him softly. 

“Here?” Arthur asked, swinging their hands together and raising his eyebrows. 

“Here.” 

•

As it was a Saturday, Merlin had more or less resigned himself to not finding Gaius at university, although he felt he had to try, having no other way to reach him. When Gaius’s office door swung open at his knock and he saw Gaius sat behind his desk, he was shocked. 

“Sir,” he frowned, “why are you here? It’s the weekend.”

Gaius raised his eyebrows. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Ah, right.” Merlin paused. “So, I’m back.” 

“And not alone, I see. Come on, shut the door, sit down.” Merlin did as Gaius said, Arthur following suit. Gaius had turned to his computer screen. “I’ve just… got to… there we go, that’s sent. I think. Either sent or deleted.” He beamed at Merlin and Arthur, who was assessing Gaius with a steady stare. “Right, what’s been happening?” 

Merlin quickly brought Gaius up to speed on what had happened since the last time he sat in this office, leaving out Dain’s attempted coup and the amount of time Merlin seemed to have spent recently either kissing Arthur or thinking about kissing him. He picked his backpack up off the floor and pulled out the book, its plastic cover battered and bubbled. 

“Here,” he said, holding it out to Gaius. “I remembered it this time. Well, it was an accident. But it’s here.”

“Ah, excellent,” Gaius replied, taking the book from him. 

“I thought… you could hang on to it,” Merlin told him. Arthur frowned at him. “I don’t need it to travel, right?” Merlin continued. “And then when we were walking here this morning I just felt… I don’t know. Don’t think I need it anymore.” 

Gaius nodded slowly. “Very well. If that’s how you feel, then I should keep it.” He raised his eyebrows at them. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

“It’s… I can’t figure out why we’re here. I hadn’t completed my mission back in Drassa yet.”

Gaius frowned. “Are you certain? It may not be some specific action that you had to do; merely setting the wheels in motion may have been sufficient for the spell to deem your work done.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Merlin replied, thinking over the past couple of days in Drassa. 

“I thought…” Arthur started, and Merlin turned to face him. “When you told us, it seemed…” He trailed off again at Merlin’s confused expression. “Perhaps not.”

Gaius was flicking through the book, nodding to himself. “Yes, it seems to me that your role in Drassa may be in place, as it were.”

“It’s not, I-” Merlin broke off, unwilling to divulge his mission of helping Lance in front of Arthur. 

When Merlin didn’t continue, Gaius raised his eyebrows, setting the book aside on his desk. “Well, if that is all?” 

Merlin stood up, picking his backpack and coat up. “Right, yeah.” He paused as Arthur got up. “Actually, Arthur – could you just go ahead for a minute? I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stairs.”

Arthur didn’t look particularly pleased, but he nodded and left the office. Merlin watched him go, still unnerved by seeing him in modern clothing. He didn’t look quite right without his tunic, and Merlin had to agree with his distaste for jeans, remembering the way the medieval leggings clung to Arthur’s legs. 

Once Arthur was out of sight, Merlin turned to Gaius. “There was one other thing,” he admitted in a hushed voice. At Gaius’s curious expression, he continued. “If I were to… return to Drassa, permanently, would I be able to communicate with anyone here? Visit or send messages or something?”

Gaius frowned. “I do not know, I am afraid. There is much I do not know about how this works, although I have never heard of anyone sending messages through time.” Merlin’s heart sank. “Will you return to Drassa?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Merlin said quickly, partly because it was true, and also because he feared that the time travel magic would send him one way or the other the moment he made a decision. 

Gaius ran his hand over the cover of the book in front of him. “I am no expert, Merlin. It may be possible. After all, we have this account of Drassa, so it stands to reason that any actions you make in the past exist in our timeline as well. That wouldn’t work in reverse, however.”

“Nothing I’ve done is in that book though. It’s just the history of Arthur’s father.”

Gaius looked surprised. “But- No, it’s best if you… Mm, very well, Merlin.” He smiled, folding his hands under his chin. “If you do return to Drassa, I wish you safe passage and a safe life.”

Merlin felt a lump rise to his throat. He wasn’t especially close to Gaius, but the idea of leaving this whole life forever, of saying these goodbyes to everyone he knew in the modern world, left his chest tight. “Thanks,” he said simply, moving towards the door. “Bye, Gaius.”

“Goodbye, Merlin.”

As he shut the office door behind him and made his way down the stairs to where Arthur was waiting for him, he imagined trying to say goodbye to his mum, to Gwen, to all his friends. He imagined doing the same with Lance and Percival. With Arthur. 

It all seemed impossible.

•

That evening, after a very peculiar game of Pictionary and twenty minutes spent discussing electric lighting, they went to bed. Lance and Percival were camped out on the sofas. Gwen had offered her bedroom floor up, but Lance had turned a spectacular shade of crimson and insisted that they would stay in the lounge. 

As everyone was getting ready to sleep, Arthur upstairs having a bath, Percival had asked Merlin if he thought they might return to Drassa during the night. 

“I don’t reckon so,” Merlin replied. “I know it happened last time I was here, but I think that’s because I’d done what I was supposed to do here – talk to Gaius and Gwen.”

“Still can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Gwaine chipped in from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Like you would’ve believed me. Anyway, I got a couple of spare blankets out, so you should be alright,” he told Percival. “If you get freezing in the night, just wake up Gwaine and nick his duvet.”

Gwaine narrowed his eyes at him and Merlin barely resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. “Where’s Arthur sleeping, then?” asked Gwaine. 

Lance snorted from the doorway to the toilet. He had been in there for a while, and Merlin had definitely heard the flush go several times, accompanied with a couple of startled shouts. Clearly, modern plumbing was proving particularly interesting. 

Gwaine grinned at Merlin. “Like that is it?” 

“It’s like nothing,” Merlin hissed.

“You know Arthur told us what you were doing last night before he fetched us,” Percival chimed in.

“Did he? Bastard.” Merlin scowled. 

Lance sidled past him towards the sofa, pulling his borrowed T-shirt over his head. “Not in any detail, do not fear,” he added, voice muffled by fabric. “But I think he was rather frustrated to have been interrupted.”

Merlin spluttered. “Right, well, I’ll just go upstairs, shall I? So you can all keep on talking about my love life.” He glared at them all for several moments before cracking at their amused expressions and laughing.

From upstairs, they heard the sound of the water being let out of the bath. “Go on, then,” Gwaine urged, clasping Merlin’s shoulder. “To bed with you.”

“Alright, mum,” Merlin replied, nodding goodbyes to Lance and Percival and making his way out of the kitchen.

In his bedroom, he found Arthur, dressed in a pair of jogging bottoms, soft and faded with age. He was rubbing his hair with a towel, the strands dark and spiky with water. 

“Hey,” Merlin said, closing the door behind him. “You okay?”

Arthur set down the towel and sat down on the side of Merlin’s bed. “Yes. This is all very strange.”

“Yeah,” Merlin smiled. He sat down next to Arthur. “I like having you here though. I mean, it’s weird. Lance and Percival are on my sofa; that’s weird. It’s nice to see you in my house and with my friends though, you know?” He huffed a laugh. “I’m not making much sense.”

Arthur slipped his arm around Merlin’s back, splaying his fingers across his side. “I only ever see you in my _house_ and with my friends. So yes, I understand your meaning.” 

“That’s true.” They sat in silence for a minute, Merlin leaning back into the warmth of Arthur’s arm. “All the… cars and lights and clothes. That’s not weirding you out too much?” 

“I think of this all like a dream.” Merlin twisted his neck so he could see Arthur’s face. He looked pensive. “It’s fascinating, but this will never be my world. I will never understand these things like you do. They will never be natural to me.” 

Merlin leant sideways and rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder, both of them looking ahead. “Don’t you think that’s sad?”

He felt Arthur’s slight shrug. “We all have our homes. Drassa, and my life there, is what is natural to me.”

Merlin swallowed. “Don’t you think I fit in Drassa too? Didn’t you think that, before you knew about all of this?”

“I… You have always seemed different. In coming here, I have seen what is natural to you. All of this, all these marvels I could never imagine, and you move amongst them as easily as breathing.”

Arthur’s voice was steady and soft, and filled Merlin’s belly with ice water. He knew that he stood out at Drassa, and returning to Caerwent reminded him of the way his life usually was, but having Arthur there, along with Lance and Percival, highlighted the connection he had to them. But it seemed that for Arthur, Merlin was just another oddity from the future, unsuitable for, and perhaps undeserving of, a place in Drassa. 

Merlin was tired. He sat up, and Arthur pulled back his arm. “Look, it’s been a long day. Shall we get some rest?”

Arthur nodded, his jaw tight. Merlin reached a hand up and brushed back his damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He stood up and got changed quickly, Arthur still sat on the bed, his hands loosely folded in his lap. Merlin turned off his bedroom light, leaving them in the gloomy light of the streetlights outside the window. Arthur stood up, and followed Merlin under the covers. 

They lay in silence for a minute, before Merlin sighed. “Let me hold you?” he asked quietly. 

He met Arthur’s eyes through the darkness as he turned his head, and Arthur nodded. Merlin turned them so he was against Arthur’s back, his arm draped over Arthur’s stomach. 

Arthur’s breathing was low and steady, but Merlin had no doubt sleep was evading him as well. From elsewhere in the house, he heard the toilet flush, the click of the bathroom light, footsteps on the stairs, then silence. Despite the warmth of Arthur’s body next to his, he still felt cold, his muscles tense even as he tried to will himself towards sleep.

It was in the hollow hours of the early morning that Merlin decided what to do next, and found himself finally able to get some rest. He would not return to Drassa if there wouldn’t be a life for him there, and he knew now that life would only be there with Arthur’s support. Leaving either Caerwent or Drassa sounded intolerable, and losing Arthur’s affections seemed almost as bad as never seeing him again. He was tired and uncertain and half in love, and he knew there was only one person he wanted to see.


	12. Chapter 12

“I need to go see my mum,” Merlin said, except he was brushing his teeth and his mouth was full of toothpaste so it sounded more like a radiator gargling. 

Gwen frowned at him in the mirror from her spot perched on the edge of the bath. “What? Look, I came in here to talk to you, privately.” She darted a look at the closed door. “They’re just _around_ all the time.”

Merlin spat in the sink and rinsed his toothbrush. “Sorry. Do you want me to tell them to leave you alone?”

“No,” Gwen shook her head, biting her lip. “It’s not that, it’s…” 

Merlin rolled his eyes and turned around to face her. “What? C’mon Gwen, spit it out.” He was irritable after his conversation with Arthur and his poor night’s sleep.

“Hey!” she objected, frowning. “I was much more patient with you when you were explaining all this time bullshit.” 

“You’re not about to tell me _you’ve_ been time travelling too?” Merlin asked with fake shock, clutching at his chest. 

“Oh, shut up. No, just… it’s Lance,” she admitted, looking at him nervously. 

He raised his eyebrows. “I had noticed. He’s good looking.”

“They all are! Seriously, I thought all medieval people were meant to be five foot tall and have wonky teeth.” 

Merlin leant back against the sink and crossed his arms, before standing up abruptly when the sink gave an ominous wobble and throwing it an alarmed look. “Anyway,” he said hastily, “Lance.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gwen sighed, dropping her voice lower with an uneasy look at the door. “It sounds ridiculous, but when I met him – well, once he’d gotten over the shock and started talking, it just felt so… right. Yesterday, when you went to see Gaius? He was so curious, about everything. Percival wanted to see it all, you know, but then I think it just got too weird. But Lance was just picking things up super fast. He made me a cup of tea.”

“They have drinks in the past, Gwen,” Merlin teased. 

She flapped a hand at him. “You know what I mean. With the kettle, like it was nothing, and that’s got to be weird if you have no idea what electricity is.”

“Dunno, I don’t think Gwaine has much idea what electricity is, and he gets along fine. Well, he gets along.” 

Gwen laughed, then looked down at her knees. “It’s stupid, right? I mean, I’ve only known him a day, I’ll probably be over it in about ten minutes. It was just so different from what I’ve felt with anyone before. Like, I don’t want to impress him. And he’s attractive, but I wasn’t even thinking about that…”

Merlin felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. While it was exciting to see Gwen interested in someone, especially someone Merlin knew to be a good person, he couldn’t help but think there was no solution in which anything long term could come from it.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you hang out with him today? Gwaine’s working, so you’ll have the place to yourselves.”

“What about you?”

“I think I need to talk to my mum. I want to see her, and I feel like she should know about all of this.”

Gwen nodded slowly. “Alright. So you’ll take Arthur and Percival with you?”

Merlin shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose so. Might be fun. Actually putting Percival _in_ a car rather than just showing him one.” 

She chuckled. “It’s your funeral.”

•

Percival and Arthur had clung to the sides of the car doors for the whole ninety-minute journey to Merlin’s mother’s house. 

“Are you quite sure you have to go this fast?” Percival had asked through gritted teeth on the dual carriageway. 

“I’m only going at fifty-five miles an hour,” Merlin responded. “Look, everyone’s overtaking us.”

Arthur shut his eyes and groaned. “Don’t make me look.” 

Merlin bit back a grin. He glanced at Percival in the rear-view mirror. “I thought you wanted to know what cars were like?”

“I was sorely mistaken.”

They arrived in the village Merlin had grown up with pale and unsteady. He parked on the street outside his garden gate and got out, stretching in the cool air. 

“This is your mother’s house?” Arthur asked, looking at the terraced cottage with interest.

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, this is where I grew up. It’s old enough; you two might not feel too out of place.”

“I think he may be mocking us,” Percival told Arthur from where he stood, arms braced on the roof of Merlin’s car, face still light green. 

Merlin led the way up the garden path. He hadn’t called ahead to warn his mother that they were coming, since he knew she was always in on Sundays and had no idea what he would have said if she had asked him why he was visiting. The presence of Arthur and Percival might be a bit of a shock, but since he was planning on telling her everything, it wouldn’t matter. In fact, perhaps they would help, as long as she had a few forks they could stare at oddly. 

Chuckling to himself, he knocked on the door and pushed it open. “It’s me, Mum!”

Hunith appeared around the corner, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Merlin! What are you doing here?”

He stepped forward to hug her, pulling her close and burying his face in the shoulder of her jumper. It felt like months since they had seen each other. Having been worlds away with no real idea how or when he would be able to return, hugging his mum in the hallway of his house felt like the most sense anything had made in ages. “Just wanted to see you.”

She raised her eyebrows as he pulled back. “Really? Well, it’s lovely to have you. And, uh…” She looked behind him to where Percival and Arthur stood awkwardly in the doorway, Percival in half of Gwaine’s football kit and Arthur sporting Merlin’s Clean The Seas hoodie. 

“This is Percival,” Merlin said as he kicked off his trainers, waving a hand at Percival, who quickly followed suit, beaming unsteadily at Hunith. “And Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you. Are you quite alright? You look pale.”

“They got a bit carsick,” Merlin explained for them. “Not, uh, very used to cars.”

Hunith frowned. “Not used to cars?” 

“Can we go to the kitchen?”

“Oh, of course! Let’s all sit down. I’ve just finished the washing up-” she turned to Arthur and Percival, “-he always does this, managing to arrive right after everything’s done.” She turned and led the way along the hallway into the kitchen. 

Merlin sat down at the table, pushing aside a vase of half-wilted wildflowers. Light came into the kitchen through one small window, but the cheerful yellow of the cupboards stopped the room from becoming gloomy. On the wall behind Merlin there ran long shelves stacked with crockery, dog-eared cookbooks, two very embarrassing school photos, and a carved wooden box. Hunith moved over to the sink, filling the kettle and pulling four flowery mugs out of a cupboard. 

Percival had sat down gingerly opposite Merlin, but Arthur was still lurking in the doorway, frowning slightly as he watched Hunith boil the kettle. Merlin caught his eye, scowling at him and nodding to the chair next to him furiously, until Arthur got the hint and sat down. 

“So,” Hunith began as she joined them, putting a teapot and four mugs on the table. “Merlin’s never mentioned either of you before. Are you from Caerwent?” 

“Ah…” Percival started, looking desperately at Merlin. 

“No, we’re not from Caerwent,” Arthur interrupted, toying with the mug in front of him.

Hunith turned to Merlin with raised eyebrows. 

“Have some tea, Mum,” he urged quickly, pouring. 

“Merlin.” 

He kept pouring, serving Arthur and Percival. “Look, you forgot the milk, shall I get some out?” 

This time it was Arthur who stopped him, reaching out and pushing him back into his chair as he made a move to escape towards the fridge. “Enough, Merlin. Percival, you do not want milk?” Percival shook his head. He turned to Hunith. “And I’m very sorry, but Merlin did not tell us your name.” 

Hunith grinned, sticking her hand out over the table. “Hunith.” 

Arthur smiled back, taking her hand solemnly. “There. Now, Merlin, stop trying to escape.”

“You’re one to talk,” Merlin blustered. “You wouldn’t even come sit down.” Arthur narrowed his eyes, the smile gone, and Merlin was reminded of their conversation the night before. The memory turned his stomach to ice and he looked away from Arthur, frowning. “We didn’t just come to say hi, it’s… Mum, I’ve got something to tell you.” He paused.

“Come on, out with it then,” Hunith laughed, wrapping her fingers around her mug. “This is as painful as when he first told me he was gay,” she told Arthur and Percival conspiratorially. She was met with blank stares. 

Merlin looked to Percival for help, but he merely shrugged minutely. “This is going to sound ridiculous. You're going to think I'm making things up-”

“Do you remember when you pretended to have a pet dragon for half of Year Three? You must do, his name was Kevin-”

“Mum!” Merlin took a deep breath, rubbing the palm of his hand between his eyes. “This is serious. Percival and Arthur can tell you, too. Something’s happened.” 

Hunith was looking at him closely. “Oh.” She looked at Percival and Arthur, took in the fit of their T-shirts and the way Arthur glanced about the room uncomfortably. She sighed. “I think I know what you’re going to say. Maybe I should have seen this coming.” 

Merlin frowned. “There’s no way you could know what I’m about to tell you.” 

“Yes, I can,” she nodded. “You two, you’re from the past, aren’t you?” 

There was a moment’s silence as Merlin stared at her, vaguely aware that his mouth had dropped open. Percival was giving Merlin another uncomfortable glance, clearly unwilling to spill the beans but unhappy at ignoring Hunith’s question. 

Arthur leant forward over the table. “How did you know?” 

“Yes, Mum,” Merlin pressed, still avoiding looking at Arthur. “How the hell did you know?”

She set her mug down. “Look, there’s some things I should tell you. Maybe it would be best if we were alone.” 

Percival raised his eyebrows at Merlin. “Do you wish us to leave?”

“Yes, maybe you should,” Merlin replied, his heart fluttering fast in his chest. “Er, just go into the lounge for a bit – it’s on the left, by the front door.” 

Percival nodded. “Are you certain?” 

Arthur stood up abruptly. “Come, Percival. This clearly does not concern us,” he said dismissively.

“Arthur, just wait a minute-”

“Do not fret, Merlin.” Arthur looked at him coolly. “We will wait for you elsewhere until you are ready to leave. Hunith,” he added, bowing his head towards her, before leaving, Percival behind him. 

After the kitchen door had shut behind them, Hunith turned to Merlin. “We’ll talk about _that_ later.”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, picking at a placemat. “He’s particularly grumpy today.” 

She didn’t look convinced, but knew him well enough to drop the subject. “Very well. Now, I suppose you have some questions.”

“I thought you were going to be the one with questions today,” he told her, his tone accusatory. 

“That’s fair. And no doubt I will.” She nodded her head towards the closed door. “But now I’ve decided to tell you everything, I feel quite keen to get it all out there. Be a weight off my shoulders, to be honest.” She smiled at him a little sadly, before continuing in a soft voice. “It’s about your dad, Merlin.” 

“ _Dad_?” 

Hunith nodded. “I know I always said that he left town before I knew I was having you.” 

“Yeah, and then he died.”

“Yes, well, that’s not exactly true. He is dead,” she added at Merlin’s wide-eyed expression. “And he did leave before I found out I was pregnant. But it wasn’t quite how I made it seem.” Merlin’s confusion must have been evident, because she sighed and chuckled. “Look, I’m going about this all wrong. Why don’t you get the biscuits out – there’s some fairings Izzy brought round the other day, I just didn’t want to waste them on your friends before I knew what they were like, you know how good her baking is – and I’ll explain everything. Go on,” she urged, waving a hand towards the cupboard where the biscuit tin was. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll both need the sugar.”

When Merlin returned to the table with the biscuits, Hunith had brought over the wooden box from the shelf. She was running her fingers over its edges.

“Is that to do with my dad?” Merlin asked, nodding towards the box. 

Hunith nodded. “Yes. There’s a lot I should tell you, Merlin.” 

“Well,” Merlin said, feeling uncertain. “You’d better get on with it, then.”

She chuckled. “Fair enough. This box – you know it’s always been locked. It contains everything I have of your dad.” Merlin nodded, unsurprised. “I meant to share this with you earlier but, well, it wasn’t until now that I thought you might believe me. Not until today.”

“Because of Arthur and Percival.” 

“Exactly.” She looked at Merlin nervously, her forehead creased. “That’s how I knew, see. That they were from the past. I could see the way they looked at everything a little bit off, because I’d seen the same expression on someone else before.” 

Merlin glanced away across the kitchen, out of the window where the trellis Hunith grew roses on was visible. “On him.” 

“Yes, he… It was the strangest thing, Merlin. It was before we moved here, of course. I was still living with Grandma, and one day I came home and he was just there – in the garden. I thought he’d broken in, of course. Threatened to call the police, but he just looked so confused, I somehow knew that he wasn’t a threat.” She smiled. “He told me about where he was from. I thought it was a joke, or else that he was mad, to be honest. I had to lie to Grandma, tell her he was one of your Uncle Alric’s friends from university visiting, and she let him stay. I don’t know what convinced me in the end, to be honest. Think it was his face, every time he saw something new. He found it all so exciting, so interesting, but you could just tell he didn’t know the difference between an aeroplane and a microwave. A man out of time, he was.”

Merlin was watching his hands on the table, picking at the corners of his nails. “Trust me, I know the feeling.” He glanced up at Hunith. “Arthur and Percival didn’t come here – or, they have now, and another guy, too – but first, I went there.”

“You have to tell me all about it, Merlin.” She covered one of his hands on the table with her own. 

“Finish telling me about him, first,” Merlin insisted. “What happened?”

Hunith sighed. “He was here for a few weeks. We were getting close,” she admitted, blushing slightly. “Then he vanished one afternoon. He came back the next morning, and he was- it was… He’d been back, see, and there was trouble where he was from. He said he had to return, had to help, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get to come back here again. We both wanted him to stay, I think, and maybe if things had been different for him, he would have.” She smiled sadly at Merlin, blinking back tears. “He would’ve met you.” 

“So he left?”

She nodded. “I never saw him again after that. But there’s more.” She splayed her fingers over the wooden box, then reached under her jumper and pulled out a chain from around her neck, upon which hung a tiny brass key. “After he left, I went to this little junk shop – I don’t know why, but there was this book, just an empty notebook, and I bought it and thought it would be a good diary. I had just realised I was pregnant with you,” she added, using the key to unlock the box and opening the lid. Inside lay a plain, brown journal that Hunith lifted out carefully, along with a photograph and two clippings of hair, pinned together. She flicked open the first page and ran her fingers over the words scrawled there in close handwriting Merlin recognised as her own. “I just wrote it all down, to get it out of my head. There was no one I could tell, see. No one would have believed me. I think Grandma figured out he wasn’t a friend of Alric’s, but we never really talked about it. So I wrote in here… then, a reply appeared. 

Merlin blinked. “A _reply_?” 

Hunith nodded. “Yes, from your dad. I had no idea how it was working – thought I might be going mad, but if I could believe the time travel, a magical diary seemed possible.” 

“This is like _Harry Potter_.” Merlin reached across the table towards the diary, filled with trepidation at the idea of seeing his father’s words, the closest thing he would ever have to his voice, for the first time. “Can I see?” 

“Here.” Hunith pushed it over to him. 

Trembling slightly, Merlin turned the page past Hunith’s first, unhappy entry. The following page was etched in a looser, slanting hand, the words firm and black against the page despite the passing of time. He scanned it quickly. “Balinor,” he murmured. 

“Oh,” Hunith breathed. “Of course. I never told you his name.” 

Merlin shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I wanted to tell you all of this, I did, I just had no idea where to start.”

“I get it,” he acknowledged, eyes still fixed on the letter Balinor had written Hunith in response to her fears. _If you are with child_ , he had written, _it shall be the greatest gift any man has ever been given. It will be the joy of my life to know a piece of me yet lives with you, to imagine every day of our son or daughter’s life even though I may never be granted the delight of passing even a moment looking upon their face_. “It’s a nice letter,” Merlin said thickly, and realised he was crying. 

Hunith squeezed his hand and spoke around her own tears. “He would have loved you so much, Merlin. He _did_ love you so much.” 

“I didn’t know,” Merlin admitted. “I thought maybe we didn’t talk about it because he wasn’t- wasn’t a good man.” 

“Oh, my son.” Hunith held open her arms. “Come here. You’re not too old for a hug.” 

They clutched each other closely for a minute before Merlin drew back, wiping his face with his sleeve. “You said he’s dead,” he began, sitting back down. “How do you know?”

“I suppose I can’t be certain.” Hunith took a deep breath. “But the last few times he wrote – he wasn’t well, Merlin. And then I never heard anything again…” 

Merlin blinked. “When?”

“You were twelve,” Hunith told him.

“ _Twelve_?” 

She nodded. “He knew all about you, I… we didn’t write all the time. That would be too difficult, and I was quite busy mopping up after you, but we still sent messages. I told him what you were like. He used to write you little notes on your birthday.”

Merlin frowned. “Did he know that I didn’t know?”

“Yes. He… we didn’t agree on that, always. He thought you should know the truth. And I was always going to tell you, to let you speak to each other, of course I was! But I had no idea how I was supposed to tell a child that their father existed only in a magical book, and he wouldn’t understand anything you were interested in because he lived in the past.”

Merlin looked away. “I understand why. I just wish I could have spoken to him myself.”

“I know. I just never thought he would die before you grew up.”

Hunith was crying again, and Merlin passed over a box of tissues. “Don’t cry, Mum. You did the best you could.” He picked up the diary, turning it over in his hands. “So, did he- did Dad have one of these too?”

“Yes, it was one of his prized possessions. I never saw it, of course, but he said it was his father’s, he’d bought it from a traveller, said the binding was beautiful. It’s all in there,” she waved a hand at the book. “You can read it.”

Merlin nodded, thumbing through the pages before setting it aside, deciding to dedicate his attention to it later. “Where was he from, Mum?”

“A medieval castle, would you believe it,” she laughed. “It was called Drassa – I’ve never Googled it or anything, to see where it was. I wanted to sometimes, just to check I wasn’t mad, that I hadn’t made it all up. But somehow knowing…” 

“I know.” Merlin swallowed. “That’s where I’ve been, Drassa. That’s where the others are from. Arthur’s the chieftain.” 

Hunith looked at him in shock. “You’ve- you’ve been there? When?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never found out the date.” He clicked his fingers. “The trouble there was, that Dad had to stay for – what was that?” A tight mixture of excitement and nervousness was rising to his stomach. 

Hunith shook her head. “He never told me much about it, didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t think. It was something to do with their leader.”

“I think I might know – I’ll have to check with the others, one of them might know his name.” 

“So he’s- he’s dead in their time, too?” 

Merlin bit his lip. “If I’m right.”

She nodded. “For a moment, I thought you might have been able to meet each other.”

“Me too,” Merlin said, scrubbing one hand across his forehead.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Hunith laughed. “We never had any fairings.” She opened the tin. “We definitely need them after all that,” she told Merlin, passing him a biscuit. 

He chuckled. “If ever there was a time for biscuits…” 

She smiled. “I’m glad this has happened, Merlin. I’m still sorry for the way everything worked out, but I’m glad you know it all. You take that with you,” she nodded towards the diary. 

“Don’t you want to look after it?”

“You can post it to me, or bring it next time you come.” Something on his face must have betrayed his discomfort. “What is it, Merlin?”

He swallowed, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve got to choose,” he said quietly. “Like he had to.”

The air hung heavy between them, the kitchen quiet. There was no sound from where Arthur and Percival waited in the lounge. 

“You’ve got to do what will make you happy,” Hunith replied at length. “I can’t tell you what to do. I just want you to be happy.” 

He nodded. “I know. Either way I’m going to be sad.”

“You’ve always been my clever little boy,” she told him, her face open, calm and sad. “But you’ve never really known what you wanted to do. Apart from when you were four and you wanted to be a train, of course. If you feel more at home in Drassa… well, don’t- don’t worry about me, love.” 

Merlin grabbed her hand. “But I’d miss you so much.”

Hunith shrugged slightly. “That’s part of growing up. Admittedly, I thought you were more likely to move to London than the past, but…”

“How can you joke about it?” Merlin asked.

She smiled softly. “What else am I supposed to do? You think about it, and you make a decision for yourself, not for me or your friends or that good-looking chieftain in the other room.”

Merlin felt himself turn red. “How did you know? Anyway, I’m not sure he even wants me there, so it might be a moot point.”

“I’ve known you for twenty-one years, Merlin, and you’re not very hard to read. I love you, but you would never make a good spy.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Talk to him,” she pressed. “And whatever you decide,” she paused and let out a heavy breath, “I’m always here for you. Even if you can’t come and see me.” 

Merlin swallowed. “I love you, Mum.”

“I love you too. Now, we’ve talked quite enough, and your friends will be wondering where we’ve got to. I’ll put the kettle on.”

•

After another mug of tea and several biscuits, Merlin, Arthur and Percival packed back into the car to return to Caerwent. Merlin had hugged his mum tightly before they left, and she had pressed the diary into his hands. He had been unable to say goodbye, fearing that it would come to be the last time he ever said goodbye to her, but she had simply nodded, brushing his hair behind his ear and waving as they drove away. 

On the journey, Merlin had told the other two that his father had also time travelled, but decided not to mention that he was from Drassa, finding himself unwilling to hear whether his suspicions were correct and Balinor may have been a man they knew. Otherwise, the drive had been quiet, Arthur and Percival both clearly fighting travel sickness again. 

Once Merlin opened his front door, Arthur claimed tiredness and headed upstairs. Percival and Merlin walked towards the kitchen. They stopped short at the sight that greeted them as they entered. All the lights were on, the room bright and warm, and the radio was playing from Gwen’s speakers in the corner. Gwaine was sat at the table, flipping through a magazine, and gave them a weary nod as they entered. In the middle of the room stood Lance and Gwen, half-covered in flour. Gwen’s hair was tumbling down around her face out of her bun, and Lance was sporting a lump of butter on his cheek. 

“Er, did you have a food fight?” Merlin asked, taking in the filthy worktops and a pile of sugar on the floor. 

“Merlin!” Gwen cried. “You’re back! How’s your mum? And no, we’ve just been making a cake.”

He blinked. “Right, I forgot that destroying the kitchen was a vital step in baking.” From behind his magazine, Gwaine snorted.

Percival stepped around Merlin and clasped Lance’s shoulder in greeting. “I have been in a car.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “I take it from your pallid complexion that the experience was not as delightful as you had hoped.” 

Percival chuckled, moving over to the table to sit opposite Gwaine. “No. I find I much prefer my horse.”

Finally moving, Merlin walked over to the sink, pushing aside three dirty mixing bowls to access the tap so he could get a glass of water. “What about you two?” he asked.

“We went to see- Gwen, what is it called?”

Gwen grinned. “We went to the cinema.”

“To the _cinema_?” Merlin asked, choking on his sip of water. “Wasn’t that a bit…”

Lance nodded. “It was rather loud.” He frowned. “Everything here is loud. However, the story was rather compelling, and the seats were most comfortable.”

“Then we went to Lidl,” Gwen continued. “To get the cake stuff. Got some potatoes too, for dinner. It didn’t seem right that Lance, Percival and Arthur have never had potatoes.”

Deciding to simply accept how surreal his life had begun, Merlin nodded sagely, taking another drink of water. “You can’t walk around without having potatoes.”

“Hear, hear,” Gwaine chimed in.

Merlin set aside his glass. “Lance, could I talk to you for a moment?”

Lance’s forehead creased. “Of course.” 

Merlin nodded and walked out of the kitchen, leading Lance into the hallway. “Um, this will have to do,” he said, standing by the shoe rack. “Arthur’s in my room.” He took a deep breath. “Lance-”

“Gwen is very nice,” Lance interrupted, staring past Merlin’s shoulder. “We have had a wonderful time today.” 

Merlin blinked. “Great?”

“I- Is there any reason why I could not, I mean, is there anyone…”

“This really sounds like a conversation you should have with Gwen,” Merlin told him. 

Lance looked at his feet. “I am aware. However, I fear that she has only kept me company today out of loyalty to her friendship with you.”

Merlin shook his head, his face softening. “No, I think she likes you. Really likes you. But Lance, won’t this only make things harder when we- when you return to Drassa?” 

“I have been wondering,” Lance admitted, lowering his voice, “if perhaps I might stay here. I know it has only been two days, but I feel… freer here.” He chuckled. “It is all very strange, but perhaps I could come to understand it as well as you do.” 

Merlin was shocked. He hadn’t contemplated the idea of Lance, or any of them, deciding that Merlin’s time might be a better fit for them than their own, even as he wrestled with the opposite decision. “I mean, I don’t know how this all works.”

“I know,” Lance urged him. “I ask no promises of you. However, if it were possible, I believe I might like to remain.” He looked away, face tight. “Leaving Drassa would be difficult for me. Leaving Arthur and Percival, and Tristam and all the others.”

“I always wanted to help you find your place in Drassa,” Merlin told him. “At Arthur’s side.”

Lance frowned. “That is not your task, Merlin. However, this is not why you asked to speak to me. I apologise.”

It took Merlin a moment to remember what he had wanted. “Right, yeah. I spoke to my mum today, and I was wondering if you knew anyone, back in Drassa, called Balinor.” He held his breath, waiting for Lance’s reply. 

“Yes,” Lance told him. “Balinor was the leader of those who resisted Arthur’s father. He died some years ago. Why?”

Merlin shook his head, reeling. “No reason.” Despite his suspicions, it still surprised him to learn that his father had been part of the unrest at Drassa, that the troublesome leader he had returned to had been Arthur’s father. That he had fought alongside Lance. “Was he a good man?”

Lance nodded. “One of the very best. He was a great kindness to me after the battle.”

“I’m glad,” Merlin told him, blinking. “If it’s alright, I think I’ll go upstairs now.” He clutched Hunith’s diary close to his side where he had been holding it ever since they returned to Caerwent. “Talk to Gwen,” he urged Lance. “I mean, if you really might want to stay. Think about it carefully, Lance.”

Lance clasped his shoulder. “And you as well, Merlin.”

Merlin made his way upstairs, his brain running wild. He was unsure what to think of Lance’s desire to stay in the twenty-first century. It seemed to pose thousands of questions, a myriad of problems Merlin had no idea how to navigate. Lance would have no records, wouldn’t legally exist. Although the technology seemed to excite him, surely it would become overwhelming, the endless reams of information he had to catch up on. However, Merlin found himself unable to condemn the idea. If Lance really were happy here, if it offered him something he couldn’t find in Drassa, Merlin had no real reason to try to stop him. Whether or not it was even possible was a whole other issue.

Quickly, Merlin brushed his teeth and washed his face, before slipping into his bedroom. Arthur was in his bed, and Merlin’s heart leapt at the sight, even though he had been expecting it. The light was off and the curtains were drawn, Arthur either asleep or pretending to be. Seeing him there, waiting for Merlin to join him, filled Merlin with a nervous kind of pleasure, but the memory of Arthur’s recent coolness and their new inability to talk to each other made him reluctant to slip in beside him. 

As Merlin climbed under the duvet, stripped to his boxers and T-shirt, Arthur stirred. 

“What’s that?” he asked, voice rough with sleep. 

Merlin glanced at the diary he was holding. “It’s from my mum. Letters she and my dad wrote to each other.”

Arthur frowned, his face rumpled under his messy hair. “After he went back to where he was from?”

“Yeah. I haven’t read them yet. Thought I might look now.” 

Arthur nodded and turned away. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“I- Goodnight, Arthur,” Merlin sighed. 

He read in the dim evening light for a while, studying each word carefully, running his fingers over the press of the letters. He only read a dozen pages, Hunith’s messages sad but excited as her pregnancy developed. Balinor’s replies made Merlin’s cheeks damp more than once, his measured words full of longing, but no regret for the choice that he had made. 

Eventually, he set the diary aside. As he lay down, he could tell from the rigid lines of the body beside him that Arthur was awake. 

“He broke my mum’s heart, leaving,” Merlin said to the darkness. 

There was a rustle beside him as Arthur rolled onto his back. 

“It was the right thing to do,” Merlin continued. “But there was never anyone else for her.” 

Arthur let out a low sigh. “’Tis best if you go to sleep, Merlin.”

“Arthur,” Merlin protested, turning towards him and reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.” 

Arthur rose towards him, curling a hand around his neck and kissing him tenderly. Merlin knotted the fingers of his free hand through Arthur’s, relishing the touch. He pulled back, brushing his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “It is the worst thing in all the world to see your mother’s sadness.” 

Merlin blinked, leaning into Arthur’s touch. “But what about-”

“Shh,” Arthur quietened him, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Sleep, Merlin.” Uncertain, Merlin lay back on the other side of the bed. Carefully, Arthur pulled his fingers from Merlin’s, moving across so they no longer touched. “The morning will come soon enough,” he said softly, before turning away, leaving Merlin to his thoughts and the darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

When Merlin awoke, Arthur was staring at him, frowning. 

“What is it?” 

Arthur shook his head slowly. “I expected… ’Tis nothing.” 

Merlin pushed himself up until he was sat cross-legged against his headboard, shoving his duvet away from himself. He was frustrated with their new inability to communicate, the way Arthur was speaking in half sentences and scowling all the time. “Arthur.”

“I thought seeing your mother yesterday would have made up your mind,” Arthur admitted, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I did not expect to wake up here,” he continued, gesturing at Merlin’s bedroom. 

Merlin furrowed his brow. “You thought you’d be back in Drassa?”

“Yes.” Arthur let out a hollow little laugh. “But it seems that fate awaits me another day.” 

“Wait,” Merlin started, thrown by Arthur’s sombre expression. “Don’t you _want_ to go back to Drassa? You want to stay here?”

Arthur scoffed. “Of course not.” Merlin felt a pang of hurt at his dismissive tone, and it must have shown, because Arthur’s face softened. “I am chieftain, Merlin. Drassa is not only my home, but my duty.”

Merlin nodded, fiddling with the edge of his duvet. “No, I know that. Just- you seemed sad about going back.” 

Arthur sighed, pressing his head into his palms briefly before looking up and catching Merlin’s gaze. “It is the right thing for me to do, and I know that you must also do what is right for you. Here…” he trailed off, staring around the room, his eyes lost. “Lance seems to like it here.” He nodded at Merlin’s questioning look. “Yes, I have noticed. I take it he enjoyed his time with Gwen yesterday?” 

“Yeah, he really did.” 

“That’s good,” Arthur said, glancing away from Merlin. “But for me, all of this strangeness – it is more than I ever could have imagined, Merlin.” He swallowed. “You are more than I ever could have imagined.”

“But it’s not your home,” Merlin finished.

Arthur clenched his jaw. “Exactly. I am the chieftain of Drassa, and that is where my heart and loyalty lie.” 

Merlin looked away from Arthur’s tight expression, gazing down at his hands where they tangled in his sheets. There was no surprise in anything Arthur was saying; no one, least of all Merlin, had ever expected Arthur to want to stay in the future. Merlin had been shocked by his conversation with Lance last night, and Arthur, despite the fears he carried about his ability to lead the clan, was much more at home in Drassa than Lance was. Yet there was something in Arthur’s tone that spoke of finality, of more than returning home. His quietness ever since they had come to Caerwent was beginning to feel like the slow dirge of goodbye, and Merlin found his throat too tight to tell Arthur where his own heart and loyalty had found a home. 

Before either of them could say anything else, there was a sharp rap at Merlin’s bedroom door. “Merlin,” a voice hissed through. “Are you awake?” 

Merlin blinked and scrambled up, unable to look at Arthur. He pulled open the door to find Gwen standing there, jiggling up and down slightly with excitement. 

“Merlin! Oh, hi Arthur,” she added with a quick wave. “I need to talk to you.” She grabbed Merlin’s arm and pulled him onto the landing. “In here,” she said, opening the bathroom door and shoving Merlin through. 

He rubbed his arm as she shut the door behind them, sliding the lock into place. “Gwen, what’s going on?” 

“It’s Lance,” she told him. Merlin nodded, unsurprised. “He came to find me last night – well, this morning really. Knocked on my door all sheepish, said he needed to talk to me.” She was grinning prettily, her eyes sparkling. 

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “I take it your conversation went well.” 

“Oh, Merlin. He wants to stay here. With me. If he can, of course.”

Merlin frowned. “That’s pretty fast. Don’t get me wrong, Gwen,” he added as her face fell, “it’s great. Seriously. I’m happy for you, just… if he stays, he might never be able to return to Drassa.” 

Gwen glanced away, biting her lip. “I know. I asked him if he would stay if it weren’t for me.” She looked back at Merlin with a pleading expression. “He said he would, Merlin. He likes it here, he finds it all so exciting. I don’t know everything about his past-”

“Some of it’s pretty ugly.”

She nodded. “I don’t need to know about it, though. Not until he wants to tell me, or never if he doesn’t want to. I think… I think he likes that.”

Merlin paused. It seemed that perhaps the mission he had given himself could be finished after all, although not in the way he had imagined. Maybe any life in Drassa would always be in the shadow of Arthur’s father and the Llanduy attack for Lance, and what he really needed was a fresh start. 

“I know it’s crazy,” Gwen continued. “But we just _connected_ , it’s like I’ve known him for ages. It could work.” 

Merlin nodded. “Alright, I’m not your dad. If you say it’s special, I believe you.” He grinned at her. “Come here.” 

They hugged tightly, Gwen clutching Merlin’s T-shirt in her hands. She sniffed loudly. “You need a shower.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled into her shoulder. “Way to ruin an emotional moment.”

She beamed as they separated. “I get that this is all ridiculous. But you’re my best friend, Merlin, and I’m just so happy.” 

“Has he told Percival yet?”

Gwen shook her head, glancing towards the closed bathroom door. “He said he was going to, once everyone was up.”

Merlin reached out and squeezed her hand. “They’ll miss him. A lot.”

“Yeah.” They stood quietly for a moment, Merlin wondering how Percival and Arthur would take the news. Arthur may have noticed that Lance was happy in Caerwent, but that was no guarantee that he would support him trying to stay there permanently. “What about you?” she asked softly. 

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought… I thought it might be worth it, staying in Drassa. My mum yesterday… I know that if I didn’t, I would think about it for the rest of my life.”

“But?”

“Arthur’s been odd, ever since we arrived here. He doesn’t seem to want me there anymore,” he admitted, looking down at his feet. 

“Hey, I’m sure that’s not true,” Gwen urged him, squeezing his arm. 

Merlin shrugged. “He thinks we’re too different. I- I almost wish I’d never told him.” 

“No, you don’t,” she told him calmly. “You couldn’t have stayed there in a lie. I know you, and you wouldn’t. Besides,” she added, “I’m glad you did. For my sake, and for Lance’s too.”

He nodded. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. See how Percival’s taking it.”

In the small slab of garden outside the kitchen, they found not only Percival and Lance but also Arthur, dressed in his medieval clothes and leaning against the garden wall with his arms folded, watching as the other two talked. 

“I’ll stay in here,” Gwen murmured at the door, and Merlin nodded before stepping out alone.

“Lance,” Merlin called as he joined them, the kitchen door closing behind him. The winter sun was bright overhead and there was a chill in the air, causing Merlin to wrap his arms around himself tightly as he was abruptly reminded he was only wearing what he had gone to bed in the night before. 

Both Lance and Percival turned to nod at him in greeting. 

“Did you know about this?” Percival asked, frowning. 

“Gwen just told me. Lance, are you sure?”

Glancing at Percival, Lance nodded. “I do not even know if I can stay here, but if it is possible, I will.”

“Lance,” Percival said, his voice smaller than Merlin had ever heard it. 

“You’re my brother,” Lance told him seriously. He reached out a hand and clasped Percival’s shoulder. “And one of the best men I know. As are you, Arthur,” he continued, turning to where Arthur stood against the wall. “You are a good man, and will be a great chieftain for the clan.”

Percival shook his head. “We need you there, too. Tell him, Arthur.” 

Arthur stood up and stepped towards them. “You must find your happiness, Lance. We all have duties…” He paused, his eyes passing over Merlin before turning away again. He cleared his throat. “We all have duties, but I release you of yours. You have served Drassa greatly in your life, more than can be asked of any man. If you need to leave, you go with my blessing.” 

Lance nodded, dropping his hand from Percival and turning to Arthur. “I am honoured to have fought for you,” he told him quietly, pulling him into an embrace. After a minute, he moved away and turned to Percival. “I would not have our last words to each other be in quarrel.” 

With a jolt, Merlin remembered that Lance had not been present when he had told the others about the letters his parents had sent each other. “You can write!” he interjected quickly. Lance turned to face him, frowning. Merlin looked at Percival. “Remember what I said yesterday, about my dad?”

Percival nodded. “Yes, but we have no such book.”

“You could use my mum’s – I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Balinor’s must still be somewhere in Drassa, I’m sure of it.” 

“Balinor had a book he could use to send messages to the future?” Lance asked, frowning. 

Merlin nodded, but before he could reply, Arthur interrupted. “Your father was Balinor?” he asked, addressing Merlin for the first time. 

Part of Merlin wanted to stop and ask Arthur if he had any further knowledge of Balinor, if he had known him as a child before he was banished by his father, but he was filled with a sense of urgency. “Yes, yes. Look, if my parents did it, it must be possible. Even if you stay here, Lance, you can still know what’s happening in Drassa. You could still talk to each other. Well, kind of.”

Lance beamed at him. “See, Percival? ’Tis not all bad. You can still bore me with your battle plans.”

Reluctantly, Percival smiled back. “And you may tell me all your sordid tales – although, if the fair Gwen has anything to do with it…” 

Lance tugged him forward into a tight embrace, clasping the back of his neck. “You saved me, my friend,” he murmured. 

“That you find your peace is all I could ask for in repayment.” 

As the two parted, blinking, the door to the kitchen opened and Gwen stepped out. “I saw a lot of hugging,” she said as she walked towards them. “Does that mean…?”

Arthur bowed his head towards her. “I believe you have agreed to take over the care of this rake?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she replied, but she was grinning widely. “You really want to stay?”

Lance nodded, stepping towards her. “Indeed,” he told her, before bending down and kissing her soundly.

•

Later, sat around the kitchen table over slabs of Gwen and Lance’s mostly edible cake, Merlin explained his mum’s diary, showing them some of the messages.

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen exclaimed, reading what Balinor had written after Hunith told him she was pregnant. “I’m so sorry you never got to meet him.”

“He was a good man,” Lance said, and Arthur made a noise of agreement, although his gaze was fixed on his undrunk cup of tea and his face was solemn. 

Merlin nodded. “I know. That’s why he went back. And I’m glad he did.” 

“So, the other book is somewhere in Drassa?” asked Lance. 

Merlin shrugged. “I guess so, as long as it didn’t get thrown out after my dad died. I don’t know where it would be though, do you?”

Lance shook his head. “No. And it was long before you came back, Arthur. Speaking of books, Merlin, did you ever finish working your way through all of Arthur’s? I came to think that was just a bit of an excuse to keep you around, to be honest.” He grinned. 

Merlin smiled, glancing at Arthur, who wasn’t looking at him. “Nearly. There’s still half a shelf to get through.” 

“You shall have to find something else to occupy you soon,” Lance teased.

At this, Arthur looked up, frowning. “Merlin is not returning to Drassa.”

Lance and Percival turned to Merlin questioningly, but Merlin was staring at Arthur. “What do you mean, I’m not returning to Drassa?” 

“Well, of course you’re not.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes, pushing his plate of half-eaten cake aside and leaning forward over the table. “There’s nothing ‘of course’ about it. I haven’t actually made up my mind, which you may notice is the reason we’re all still sat here.”

“Oh, boy,” Gwen muttered under her breath. 

Arthur raised one eyebrow, slinging one arm over the back of his chair. Despite Merlin’s confusion and the confrontational way Arthur was looking at him, a small part of Merlin was undeniably pleased to see some fire back in Arthur’s eyes, to have his attention once more. “You will stay here and help Lance adjust,” Arthur told him with a wave of his hand. “It makes the most sense. As you said, you can communicate using your mother’s diary, so you can still be kept abreast of what happens in Drassa.”

Merlin spluttered. “Can I, your lordship? You don’t think this is _my decision_.” 

Arthur removed his arm from the back of his chair and leant forward over the table towards Merlin. Gwen, Lance and Percival were all watching them, their expressions ranging from Gwen’s nervousness to Percival’s obvious enjoyment. “It is the most logical answer.”

“Maybe we should leave the two of you to discuss things,” Lance interjected. 

“Good idea,” Gwen agreed immediately, standing up. “Come on, Percival,” she urged when Percival looked reluctant to leave. 

Once the door closed behind them, Arthur slumped back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. His legs were stretched so far under the table in front of him that they rested against the legs of Merlin’s chair. “You need not worry about leaving us, Merlin. ’Tis good that Lance will have you here.”

“I’m still not sure exactly how you got the idea this was your decision to make.” 

Arthur shrugged, and Merlin had to fight back the urge to slap his obnoxious face. He hadn’t found Arthur this irritating in quite some time. “Look, Merlin, once I saw you here, I knew it made the most sense. This is your world. It is nothing like Drassa.”

“So what? Lance wants to stay, even though it’s not what he’s used to. I’ve spent much longer in Drassa than he has here.” 

“And in that time, you’ve survived a deadly fever and gotten into a fight with one of my guards.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “You’re worried about me? Is that what this is?”

Arthur looked away. “Nobody could expect you to want to return when this is your alternative. Your friends are here, your _cars_ -”

“Like I care about my car,” Merlin interrupted, but Arthur ignored him.

“-and your mother. You told me yourself – when Balinor returned to Drassa, it broke her heart. To have you do the same…” He shook his head. “’Tis alright, Merlin. I will bear no grudge against you.”

“Well you’ve sure been doing a good impression of it for the past two days!”

Arthur swallowed, his previous confidence slipping off his shoulders, leaving him tired and serious. He ran a hand through his hair. “I apologise for my behaviour. I… I have let my emotions get the better of me. However, as much as my- my _heart_ may wish for your return, I know that Drassa can never be enough for you.” 

Merlin blinked at him in silence. Arthur was avoiding his gaze, picking at the crumbs on his plate. “You idiot!” Merlin exclaimed at last, leaning back in his chair as a mixture of relief and elation filled him. “You absolute, bloody _idiot_!”

Arthur frowned. “What-”

“You’re so cocky, I can’t believe you’d convinced yourself you knew the best thing for me. I suppose my life must seem so magical to you,” Merlin mused, ignoring Arthur’s interruption. “But it’s just my life, Arthur. My boring, ordinary life. Yeah, my friends are great, and cars and TV and phones are cool, and I miss plumbed hot water like you can’t _imagine_ in Drassa, but they’re not you. They’re not you, and the castle and the clan. That’s where I feel alive.”

Arthur looked thrown.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Merlin muttered, grinning. He got out of his chair and walked around to where Arthur sat, before climbing into his lap. Arthur’s hands came up instinctively to clutch his hips. “I love you, you prat.”

Arthur still looked a little shocked, but groaned and tilted his head up to kiss him. “I love you too,” he said when they parted. “My heart, my life, my clan – they are all yours.”

“Well, I don’t know how the rest of the clan would feel about that,” Merlin grinned, “but I appreciate the sentiment.” He ducked in and stole another kiss from Arthur’s lips. “Just don’t go convincing yourself you know what I’m doing again, okay? Talk to me next time.” 

“Agreed,” Arthur murmured, mouthing Merlin’s jaw. 

“How long do you think we’ve got until the others come back in?” 

Arthur hummed against Merlin’s skin. “Long enough?” 

“Good,” Merlin replied, and lost himself in the warmth of Arthur’s mouth again.

•

Shortly after his conversation with Arthur, Merlin rang Hunith. She seemed unsurprised that Merlin had chosen to return to Drassa, although he was sure he wasn’t the only one who finished their conversation with damp eyes. Uncertain of exactly how the magic worked, and when he would return now that he had made his decision, he was driven by a sense of urgency, sorting what remained to be done in Caerwent before they were returned to Drassa. He took Hunith’s diary to the post office and sent a brief email to Gaius. Arthur watched over his shoulder as he wrote it, demanding an explanation of how the internet worked. 

As he hurried around, Merlin’s mind hummed with all the things he didn’t have time to do, all the people he probably didn’t have time to see, and thus would never see again. Gwen assured him that she would organise Lance and find some way to forge his modern identity, and that they would do the reverse for Merlin. Maybe they would simply report him as missing, a runaway. Eventually, he would be declared dead, with only a handful of people knowing the truth. In fact, once he returned permanently to Drassa, he _would_ be dead in the twenty-first century, would have been dead for a millennium. The thought of it left him feeling queasy, and he pushed it aside. Surely the time would come in Drassa when he would mourn what he had left, but his resolve to go back didn’t waver. 

That evening, the six of them ate spaghetti Bolognese, crammed around the kitchen table. Gwaine pulled out three bottles of cheap red wine.

“It’s not even got a name,” Merlin protested, taking a sniff. “It’s just called ‘Red Wine’.”

Gwen nodded, wincing as she took a sip. “That’s pretty rough.”

Lance shrugged, his arm slung around the back of Gwen’s chair. “If it does the job…”

At some point, two bottles later, a Norah Jones album was put on, and Gwen and Merlin ended up crying, folded together on the sofa, while Percival poked the speakers inquisitively. The whole time, Arthur watched Merlin fondly, holding his undrunk glass of wine. 

“’Tis time we were abed,” he said at length. He waved his glass towards the kitchen floor, where Gwaine was reading the back of the wine bottle in a frightful Italian accent to Lance, who was nodding sagely, head pillowed on Gwen’s jumper. 

Extracting himself from Gwen’s limbs, Merlin yawned. “’S right. Gwen, c’mon.” He tapped her leg until she got up.

Gwaine pulled himself up unsteadily and walked over to them. “Group hug,” he slurred, tugging Merlin and Gwen towards him. “This is fucking mad,” he mumbled into Merlin’s shoulder. “Gonna miss you mate.” Merlin simply nodded, throat thick with tiredness and sadness and cheap wine. 

Gwaine made his way up to bed, already cursing the wine for the sore head he anticipated come the morning. After speaking quietly to Lance and clasping Gwen’s hand in thanks and farewell, Arthur went upstairs as well. Percival and Lance settled themselves on the sofas, Percival tugging on his medieval tunic before falling asleep next to Lance, who was still in one of Merlin’s T-shirts. 

“He can have them, I guess,” Merlin mused to Gwen as they made their way out into the hallway. 

She reached down and squeezed his hand, pulling them to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Merlin, I’m happy for you,” she told him earnestly. 

“Don’t, we’ll only start crying again.”

She smiled at him blearily. “No, it’s true. And we can write. I want to hear everything.”

“Me too,” he agreed, clutching her fingers tightly. “Well, not _everything_ ,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows and nodding towards the wall behind which Lance and Percival were sleeping. 

“Merlin!” She chuckled. “Fair enough.” She sobered. “I’ll go see your mum too, you know? Not just for the magical diary.” 

He nodded, eyes damp. “Thanks, Gwen. You’ve been the best friend I could ask for.”

She sighed. “I know, I’m great. Hey!” she laughed as he poked her ribs. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“We might still be here in the morning,” Merlin pointed out as they made their way upstairs. “Then we’ll have all done this soppy stuff for no reason.”

“Mm, maybe. I doubt it though, somehow. Now,” she paused as they reached the landing outside Merlin’s bedroom. “Don’t forget how to use electricity in case you somehow come back one day, and don’t get leprosy, and wash, and – do they have lube in the past?”

“ _Gwen_!”

She held up her hands. “I was just asking! Well, you know. Look after yourself, Merlin. And don’t forget about us.” 

Merlin tugged her forward into a hug. “Right back at you. All of it.”

“Alright.” She breathed deeply, pulling away. “Speak to you soon.”

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

With that, she was gone, turning away to her room and closing the door behind her. The house was quiet; Gwaine probably passed out on his bed, Lance and Percival sleeping downstairs. Merlin stood there for a moment, listening to the night, hearing the distant traffic on the main road, the passing calls of a drunk group walking by the house on the street outside. 

Then he opened his bedroom door, smiled at the sight of Arthur sitting up in bed waiting for him, and stepped in.

•

When he woke up the next morning, Merlin was unsurprised to see the sun peeking around the edges of Arthur’s covered bedroom window rather than through his own thin curtains, the light falling across the stone walls and onto the hard floor where the three of them were laying. 

“So, we made it back,” Arthur said, getting to his feet with a groan. 

Merlin turned and saw Percival sitting up and rubbing his head. “You’re still wearing Gwaine’s football kit. He’ll be pissed when he realises.”

“I don’t suppose your mother has a magical clothes transporting system as well?” Arthur teased, moving over to the window and pulling aside the furs covering it and letting the morning warmth stream in. 

Percival got to his feet. “It worked then. Lance.”

Merlin nodded. “I guess so.” He stood up, wincing. “Remind me never to sleep on the floor again.” 

“Noted.” Arthur grinned, turning to look out of the window. “It seems morning training has begun without you, Percival.” Dressed in his medieval clothes, the muscled lines of his body were confident and at ease, as he stood framed by the blue sky and lit with the morning’s light.

Percival chuckled, and Merlin realised he’d been caught staring. “I best go to join them,” Percival answered Arthur. “Before one of them loses a limb. Is Tristam out there?” 

Arthur frowned down at the courtyard far below. “I do not think so.”

“He _is_ newly married,” Merlin pointed out.

“Merlin,” Arthur chided, turning to face him. “Isolde is my cousin.”

Merlin held up his hands defensively. “I’m just saying.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Percival. “You should probably fetch a change of clothes before you go out there, unless you desire to answer some uncomfortable questions.”

“Ah,” Percival replied, looking down at his bright green football shorts. 

“Here.” Arthur crossed to one of the trunks beside his bed and pulled out a tunic and a pair of loose trousers. “Wear these to your chambers.”

Percival nodded, taking the clothes from Arthur and getting changed quickly. Merlin’s eyes must have lingered a little too long on Percival’s bare torso, for Arthur cast a knowing look his way. 

“It’s not my fault you’re all… ridiculous,” Merlin muttered, walking over to the window and sticking his head out into the cool air. Down below, the early morning rhythms of the castle were underway, a handful of women making their way up along the path and through the gates, winding their way towards the kitchens and the laundries. As Merlin watched, a small figure he could identify as Tristam stepped from behind the stables to join the training, passing easily through the assembled fighters, the silver of his sword shining in the sun. 

At the sound of Percival’s departure, Merlin turned around and saw Arthur watching him, stood at the end of the bed, a crease between his eyebrows. “Are you disappointed to be back?” 

Merlin shook his head, crossing the floor to join him. “No. I’m sad to be gone.” He shrugged. “I think sometimes I will be sad about it. Just like you’ll miss Lance, or how you sometimes miss your mum. I’m sure you must miss the life you had before you returned to Drassa, as well.”

Arthur reached out a hand and reeled Merlin closer, until they stood pressed against each other from ribs to knees. He leant back, tucking an errant strand of Merlin’s hair behind his ear. “I was very well travelled, you know.” 

Merlin chuckled. “You told me. Where was it you’d been? Eba- something?”

“Eburacum,” Arthur told him proudly. “’Tis very far.”

“Perhaps we can go there together, one day,” Merlin said, leaning into the hand Arthur had on his cheek. “But no, to answer your question, I’m not disappointed to be back. It feels right. And I am here with you.”

Arthur grinned. “Ah, yes. You are very fortunate.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to be this self-satisfied all the time, now you know I love you?”

“You love me,” Arthur echoed, darting in to press a kiss to Merlin’s nose, which he promptly wrinkled in response. 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.” He paused, admiring the sunlight on Arthur’s face, the relaxed tilt of his shoulders, the soft creases at the edge of his eyes. “What are we going to tell everyone about Lance?”

Arthur sighed. “I thought I could announce that he has been sent as an emissary to another clan. Eventually, we will have to say that he has died.”

Merlin nodded, knowing the same kinds of decisions were being made about him in Caerwent. “Won’t it seem strange that he didn’t say goodbye?” 

Arthur sighed. “Yes, probably. Lance was friendly with everyone, and he will be missed.”

“It’s okay to miss him,” Merlin said softly. “But we know that he’s happy, not dead.”

Arthur looked at him carefully, studying his face from where they stood in the confines of each other’s arms. “It is a small price to pay for his happiness,” he said at length. “A small price to pay for this happiness.”

Merlin smiled. “See, you can be romantic.” 

“Don’t ruin it, Merlin.” They stayed there for another long moment, before Arthur leaned back regretfully. “I should join the training. Percival and I can tell the men of Lance’s departure.”

Merlin nodded, stepping away as Arthur moved over to his trunk, changing his tunic for one better suited to fighting. Idly watching the play of the muscles in Arthur’s back, and wondering when he would stop ogling half-naked medieval men, he decided he might as well finish cataloguing the last of Arthur’s books while he had the chance. 

“Why did you want me to find snakeskin books?” he asked, remembering Arthur’s long ago instructions. “I never found any. Was there a reason?”

Finished changing, Arthur turned around, smoothing his hair with one hand. He frowned slightly. “No, not really. It seems foolish now. I was sure I remembered seeing a couple in there. It somehow felt important to know.” He shrugged, stepping forward and kissing Merlin briefly. “I will find you as soon as I can break away.”

Merlin made a noise of agreement, his thoughts elsewhere, and Arthur left the chamber. Perhaps it was nothing, but something made him hurry to Arthur’s study, hoping to find a book on the last remaining shelf that was bound in snakeskin.

•

He found it almost instantly. After running his fingers over the thin, pale green spine, he carried it over to the table and set it down. The morning sun lit the quiet room, and Merlin took a deep breath, glancing out of the window at the distant fields and twists of the river, before turning his attention to the book. If he hadn’t been looking especially, he thought he probably wouldn’t have realised what it was bound in, but the lines and curves of the patterned cover seemed like they could be snakeskin. 

Something inside of him certain that this was Balinor’s counterpart to Hunith’s diary, Merlin opened it. The pages were filled with writing, the styles alternating from page to page as each replied to the other. However, the words were incomprehensible. Merlin sounded out some of the shapes, but could make no sense of it. His mother’s handwriting, familiar as his own, lay in front of him in a language he was sure she did not know. 

As he was puzzling over it, the door behind him opened, and he turned to see Arthur, the hair at his temples damp with sweat. 

“You didn’t stay at training long. Miss me?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes but shrugged. “Yes,” he admitted, walking over to the table. 

Merlin tilted his head for a peck. “Mm. Know the feeling.” 

Arthur nodded towards the table. “I guessed you would be here. Have you finally finished sorting the books? I really did not expect it to take you this long.” 

“Rude,” Merlin replied, “and no. Well, almost.” He lifted the book, closing it so that Arthur could see the cover. “I found the snakeskin eventually. This is snakeskin, right?”

Arthur took it from him and ran his hands over the binding. “I believe so.”

“I thought it was going to be my dad’s version of the book, the one he used to write to my mum. But it’s not the same.” 

Frowning, Arthur opened it and scanned the first page. “These seem to be your mother’s words. _I don’t know what to do_ ,” he read aloud. “ _I feel so lost now that Balinor’s gone and it’s not as though I can tell Ma any of this_ …” 

Merlin snatched the book back. “That’s not what it says!” he exclaimed, finding the words as incomprehensible as they had been a minute before. “It’s all- oh. This really all makes sense to you?” he checked, waving it in front of Arthur’s face. Arthur nodded. “It must be part of the weird language magic,” Merlin sighed. “I could read both of their messages in my mum’s version, and here I can’t read either.” 

“Just as you can’t read my other books.” 

“I can read some,” Merlin protested. “Well, kind of. I studied Old English in my first year. But this is different…”

Arthur shrugged. “’Tis our language. I don’t know what you would call it.” 

Merlin closed his eyes briefly. “So this is what you’re speaking to me right now? Like, in this moment?”

“Yes. I speak some Latin too-”

“Don’t make it more complicated,” Merlin interrupted. “Okay, I’m just going to pretend we’re both speaking the same language right now, otherwise my head will explode. I mean, I suppose I _knew_ you weren’t talking to me in Modern English – Gaius did mention it, but I always imagined it was more that if I said ‘T-shirt’ you understood what that meant.”

Arthur was smiling at him fondly. “This is how we have been communicating for weeks.”

“I know.” Merlin screwed up his face. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.” He flicked to a page of Balinor’s writing. “What’s this say, at the bottom?” he asked, tracing a phrase that had been doubly underlined.

Arthur moved to look over his shoulder. “ _In ois oisou_ ,” he read aloud, the words remaining foreign to Merlin’s ears. “It means ‘for ever and ever’. He is telling your mother that he will love her forever.” 

“‘For ever and ever’,” Merlin echoed, staring at the page. “That’s nice.” 

Gently, Arthur took the book from Merlin’s hands, closing its cover and setting it aside on the table. “Now, enough of that.”

Merlin frowned. “I thought I should write something in it, for my mum. To check that it works.” 

“And then spend the rest of the day staring at the page waiting for a response?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Do you even know what you wish to write?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Merlin admitted. “Just a few lines, so she knows we’re back safe.” 

Arthur slipped an arm around Merlin’s waist, nosing at his jaw. “It will wait until tomorrow.”

Merlin felt his mouth cocking up into a grin. He turned in Arthur’s arms until they were face to face, Merlin resting back against the table. “Will it?”

Arthur nodded, his face lit by the sun and his eyes glinting wickedly. “In fact, I believe all of our chores may wait until tomorrow.”

“Really?” Merlin arched an eyebrow. “So you don’t want me to finish cataloguing your books? It could take me all afternoon, you know, if I’m really thorough.” His smile widened as Arthur started pressing kisses along his hairline. “Unless there was something else you wanted me to do…?”

Arthur’s hands were brands on Merlin’s hips, fingers splayed across his lower back. “I had a couple of ideas,” he replied, voice soft and low. “Perhaps this time we will not be interrupted.” 

Merlin leaned back far enough to break their connection. “Very well.” He lifted a hand from Arthur’s waist and waved it towards the door with a dramatic flourish. “Lead on.” 

As Arthur led him through the castle, from his study to his chamber, the light from every window seemed to dance across his golden head and illuminate the floor before them. Merlin held tight to Arthur’s hand, his body warm and thrumming with the sheer joy of the summer’s day, the comfort of the castle walls, the anticipation of a lover’s touch, and his grin spread so wide across his face that it threatened to fall into laughter.

•

Merlin felt loose-limbed and pleasantly tired by the time they made their way to the great hall for the evening meal. His cheeks ached from smiling, and he found many of his other muscles protesting as well, but the luxury of the steaming bath Arthur had had drawn for them had eased his tired body, and he found himself ravenous and looking forward to dinner. 

Once they reached the top table, Arthur gestured to the chair beside his and Merlin sat down, catching Percival’s amused gaze from further down the table where he usually sat and returning his friendly nod. On Arthur’s other side sat Tristam, and beyond him Isolde, their heads bowed close together in soft conversation, before Tristam turned to acknowledge Arthur and Merlin’s arrival. 

“I hear Lance has gone as envoy to Llanduy,” he said as a serving woman stepped forward to fill their cups with mead. “Will he be gone long?” 

Arthur sipped slowly before answering. “Perhaps. ’Tis time he took on a new role.”

As they spoke, platters of food were placed before them, and Merlin’s stomach rumbled loudly at the sight of the glazed root vegetables and crisp-skinned cuts of meat that appeared in front of him. 

Arthur chuckled at the sound. “Hungry, Merlin?” 

“Hungrier than usual,” Merlin agreed. “I’m not sure why… Ah – I missed breakfast this morning. That’ll be it.” He shovelled food onto his plate, grinning at Arthur’s outraged expression. 

The hall was filled with the hum of quiet chatter as people began to eat, the buzz interrupted by occasional bursts of laughter. Merlin glanced down the table and saw Percival in conversation with Padrag, the seat beside him where Lance usually sat standing empty. 

As he pulled apart a steaming roll, Tristam turned towards them. “Some of the men were talking earlier about the eastern side of the keep’s wall. Aladar suggested that reinforcement with an earthen bank, such as they do at Clau Mar. Isolde has drawings of the system; she studied them during her stay there,” he added, gesturing to his new wife beside him. “The extra stone would enable us to finish rebuilding the farmers’ cottages more quickly.” 

Arthur nodded slowly and looked at Merlin. “’Tis not a bad idea. Merlin, what are your thoughts?”

Merlin put a piece of bread in his mouth and chewed, thinking. He cast a glance around the full hall, spotting those he recognised amongst the diners, along with many he had yet to get to know. Swallowing, he turned back to Tristam and Arthur, who were waiting for his comments. “It would be useful to have more stone free,” he began, drumming his fingers on the table top. “Would the earth banks need more maintenance than stone reinforcement? Isolde, if we could see those drawings some time…”

The platters of food grew lighter as they talked, the jugs of mead emptying into the cups and bellies of the clan. Lit by candlelight and the yellow flames of the fireplaces, the hall was warm and safe within the walls of the castle, its inhabitants moving among each other in a rhythm as easy as breathing.


	14. Epilogue

Merlin walked through the corridors of the castle, clutching his thick indigo cloak tight about his shoulders. As he passed a window he glanced out; the courtyard below was covered in a light blanket of snow, tracked through with dozens of dark paths where people had walked, going about their daily business. Billows of grey cloud rose from the forge through the still, grey sky, joining the smoke of dozens of fires that warmed the castle and the cottages that stood outside the keep’s walls.

He turned up a staircase, the stone tapping under the soles of his boots. Soon he reached the chamber he shared with Arthur, and entered, closing the door behind him. He tugged off his leather gloves and removed the heavy cloak, draping it over the bed as he made his way to the lit fireplace for warmth. 

It had been twenty years since Merlin had first arrived at Drassa, but the coldness that gripped the castle during the winter months still surprised him every time it came. Once his fingers had more life in them, he crossed to the table where it still sat under the window, strewn with various papers and bottles of ink. The furs over the window were drawn back, and Merlin looked down upon the yard. Despite the snow, several men of the guard were training, white tendrils of air swirling from their mouths like dragon’s breath. He saw Tristam, dressed in heavy layers, his head bowed in conversation with a boy fostered from Llanduy. Time had further lined his face as he approached his sixtieth year, yet he still fought amongst the others most mornings, his strength and experience besting those more than half his age. No doubt Isolde would be out to fetch him after her morning meeting with Arthur, Merlin thought with a chuckle, chastising him for staying so long in the cold even as her soft smile belied her scolding.

Crossing the courtyard towards them was Percival, his frame shortened as he bowed over sideways to walk hand-in-hand with his young daughter, her red hair glowing brightly amongst the dull greys and whites of winter. Merlin thought he could hear Percival’s low laugh echoing up towards his window, swept up by a cold breeze. 

Smiling, Merlin turned his attention away from the window towards the papers on the desk, several of which awaited his consideration. A new trade agreement had come through from Araclad, a clan in the wild north-west whom he and Arthur had visited two years past. There was a pile of correspondence from Clau Mar, the seat of Isolde’s aunt, who had died the previous winter. Tristam and Isolde’s eldest son, who was nearly nineteen, had gone to serve as steward there, and wrote with questions for his parents and Arthur most weeks. 

As Merlin pushed a query about the logistics of sheep trading aside, he spotted what he had really come for: the snakeskin diary that had once belonged to his father. Over the years, there had been times when Merlin had spent far too many hours studying it, poring over every letter his mother wrote to him, rereading each word from Gwen or Lance until they were etched in his mind. During his first year in Drassa, late at night, with the fire banked low, Arthur had read all the letters his parents had shared during his childhood to him, until they were familiar despite the foreign script. Over time, Merlin had used those same letters to learn to read and write the language of his new home fluently.

Now that he was edging into middle age, his joints beginning to protest at the cold and his hair flecked liberally with white, Merlin turned to the diary for comfort and news but no longer felt the gnaw of homesickness that had sometimes gripped him in his youth. There were many other things for him to attend to, but he opened the book, flicking through the pages slowly. He saw the earliest messages from Gwen and Lance, as Lance began to navigate the modern world; the regular notes from Hunith, including recipes Merlin had requested as he learnt the limitations of a medieval kitchen; letters Percival had written to Lance from time to time, often full of jokes at Arthur’s expense. Merlin paused on one page, smiling at a sketch of Gwen and Lance’s son Aaron. Gwen had drawn it the previous year, when he was eleven and they had told him the truth of his father’s past. Merlin ran a finger over Aaron’s eyes, seeing Gwen there, even in the quick lines of the drawing. 

As Merlin sat preoccupied, the chamber door opened and Arthur stepped in. He wore a heavy cloak similar to Merlin’s, though his was a deep red, trimmed with grey fur. His hair was silvery at the temples and the creases by his eyes were more defined than they had been in his youth, but his gaze was as clear and bright as it had always been. 

He smirked at the sight of Merlin poring over the diary. “I see that you’re working hard.”

Merlin looked up at him and rolled his eyes. “How was your meeting with Isolde?”

“Good,” Arthur replied, walking over to Merlin and resting his hands on his shoulders, both of them looking out through the window. “She is an uncommonly good advisor. I see Gavin in her every day.” He rubbed Merlin’s shoulders in a slow rhythm. “She and Tristam wish to travel to Clau Mar for the spring.”

Merlin nodded. “It’s a good idea. Bannon could use their help.” 

“Indeed.” Arthur ducked down and kissed the top of Merlin’s head. “Anything new?” he asked. 

Shaking his head, Merlin turned back to the diary, flicking through the remaining pages until he reached blank paper. “No, nothing since last week. I might ask Percival if he wants to write anything later; Mum was asking after Tessa.”

“Good idea.” Arthur dropped his hands from Merlin’s shoulders and walked around the chair, sitting on the edge of the desk opposite him. Despite the years they had been together, Merlin still warmed at the sight of him, bedecked in the richness that he had brought the clan, pale in the white light of the winter sun. His arms were folded across his chest and he leant back, his ankles crossed in front of him in a relaxed sprawl. Merlin’s appreciation must have shown on his face, because Arthur cocked one eyebrow. “What?” 

Merlin shook his head slowly. “Nothing. You.” 

Grinning, Arthur nudged Merlin’s knee with his own. “How romantic,” he teased. “I am honoured by your affections.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “You cried yesterday because I – and I quote – ‘looked so peaceful sleeping’. Which does make it sound a little bit like you’re going to murder me.”

Arthur had flushed almost red enough to match his cloak. “Well, enough of that. I came to see you because a visitor arrived a short while ago.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “A visitor?” It was unusual for people to arrive at Drassa without advance warning. 

“He’s a travelling bard,” Arthur explained. “Requested shelter and food for the night. I allowed it,” he added at Merlin’s questioning look. 

“Very well. Perhaps we can have some of those milk cakes if we have a stranger to feed…”

Arthur laughed. “You may try. Alys has a soft spot for you.” 

“I’ll ask her later. Did the bard give a name?” 

Arthur unfolded his arms and sat back on his hands. “Yes. Wirram of Torpeth.”

Merlin ran the name through his brain a few times, before shrugging. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Nor I. I passed by Torpeth many years ago but have never heard of any bard from there.”

Merlin pushed back the chair and stood up, stretching. “Probably because he’s not very good,” he said as he stepped forward, draping his arms over Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur parted his thighs for him and grinned. “No doubt we shall find out at dinner.”

“Mm,” Merlin replied, although his thoughts were already far from the bard or Torpeth or milk cakes. “Now, did you have anywhere you needed to be?”

Tilting his head, Arthur leaned forward to nose Merlin’s cheek. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Good,” Merlin sighed, and took his lips in a kiss as familiar as the feel of the stone floor below their feet and the view of the courtyard beyond them. Lying forgotten on the table as Merlin tugged Arthur towards the bed, the next blank page of Balinor’s diary began to fill with a message from Gwen, announcing the doctor’s confirmation of her long-awaited second pregnancy. Far below them, Tristam presented Percival’s daughter Tessa with a small, blunt blade, and her pleased giggle swept the concerned look from her father’s face. As Drassa breathed with the life of its content and comfortable people, the two on the bed, skilled fighters and diplomats, a great chieftain and a man who once travelled through time, became nothing but men in love, their low laughter flowing out of the window, up above the castle, beyond the hills, and into the breadth of the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end! Part of me wanted to just keep on writing this forever. Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos. Finishing something of this length (much longer than this was originally going to be!) means a lot to me, let alone receiving the lovely feedback that I have. I hope you've enjoyed this half as much as I have.


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